


but i guess it shows (when you look into my eyes)

by upallnightstrungtight



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 16:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14336283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upallnightstrungtight/pseuds/upallnightstrungtight
Summary: It took him years to lie to himself, and a single evening to admit the truth. (A semi-official prequel toin the lonely hour)





	1. side A: 2007

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [in the lonely hour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9657338) by [cinnappo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnappo/pseuds/cinnappo), [upallnightstrungtight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/upallnightstrungtight/pseuds/upallnightstrungtight). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In the beginning, I didn’t think Henry was as cute as he is now, in the beginning he felt very MAN, and a little scary. Because when we first met, his body was better built.”

side A: risking it all in a glance

_2007_

The light’s on in one of the practice rooms. Is it by mistake? At this late hour, someone could've forgotten as they stumbled off to bed. Which is what he should be doing. He goes to check it out it anyway.

When he opens the door, it takes him a couple of seconds of squinting to spot the figure lying against the far wall, sprawled out beneath the mirror. It’s a trainee - the foreign one that Donghae had gone to visit when he'd just come to Korea and was sitting in some hotel room. Brought him tteokbokki, he'd said. That was nice.

Ugh. _What was the kid’s **name**?_ This is ridiculous. They’ve greeted each other a few times by now, he shouldn’t be forgetting like this. He stretches and blinks excessively in hopes of getting his brain to work after the extra practice that, apparently, they’d both had.

 _Henry_ , Ryeowook's tired mind finally supplies.

His footsteps echoing too loudly, he hikes his gym bag back up his shoulder, going over to Henry. The poor dear had fallen asleep right there on the hard wooden floor. An unseen force pushes him to come closer. (Step.) It looks like Henry’s been in the same sweaty clothes all day while he'd been practicing, too. (Step.) His shirt has huge damp patches and- (Step.) is riding up, showing a sliver of his stomach, revealing a... (Step.) trail of hair that Ryeowook follows with his eyes... (Step.) down to the waistband of his sweats-

Quite abruptly, he realizes what he’s doing, forcing his eyes back up to Henry’s face while his own burns. _He’s a kid. You can’t be thinking about him like that. That’s so wrong._ Putting his bag on the floor, he drops to one knee. He couldn’t resist the urge to brush Henry’s bangs off his face, but he quickly gets himself under control and gently pushes Henry’s shoulder.

“Henry,” he mutters. No response. The boy’s face remains slack in deep sleep, even as his body is contorted over his bag and case. His bag is under his head, holding his neck at an awkward-looking angle, and his knees are bent over the top of his case. _That can’t be good for him._ Ryeowook shakes him a little harder. “Henry, wake up.”

Henry stirs awake with a groan, throwing his arm over his eyes. His face scrunches up in a way that almost has Ryeowook cooing, the boy’s so precious.

Then he remembers himself. _Has he eaten dinner? If he’s been in here all day again, he probably skipped,_ Ryeowook thinks with a frown, waiting with patience he didn’t know he had.

When Henry finally moves his arm off his face, he squints up at Ryeowook. “Ryeowook-hyung?” He slurs, sleep making his tongue fumble the pronunciation more than usual. Ryeowook’s so tired, though, that he’s less bothered by it than before. Which wasn’t much to begin with.

“Are you hungry? You missed dinner, right?” Ryeowook says. Henry only blinks at him in confusion. Skipping to the point, Ryeowook drops his bag onto the floor to rummage through it for some crackers, knowing how Henry keeps forgetting to bring a snack with him. At the sight of them, the boy’s stomach makes a loud rumble. He flushes deep red.

Ryeowook chuckles, holding out the crackers to him.

“Thank you, hyung,” Henry mumbles, accepting them with a sheepish grin. A comfortable silence took over as they sat on the floor, the only sound the quiet crunch of Henry nibbling on the crackers. Ryeowook didn’t want to find the sight cute. He wanted to go home and go to sleep. But the thought felt callous to him, just up and leaving.

Once Henry’s almost done eating, Ryeowook continues with what he wanted to say before. “You shouldn’t sleep on the floor like that, you know. You’ll catch a cold, with no blanket and your sweaty clothes on the cold wooden floor. All the extra practice in the world won’t do you any good if you get sick.” Henry blinks at him again. Ryeowook barely resists the urge to sigh. “And you probably didn’t understand a word I just said, did you.”

Henry’s expression falls; he must’ve heard the chastisement in Ryeowook’s tone even without understanding much of what he said. “My Korean is… not good. Still very bad,” the boy says, turning the almost-empty wrapper between his fingers. “Sorry.”

Ouch.

Ryeowook’s stomach turns, though he doesn’t quite know why. Henry’s downtrodden expression, though, makes him feel like he just kicked a puppy. With an air of dejection, Henry quietly finishes the last cracker.

He still looks exhausted.

The poor kid needs real food and a real bed.

This time, Ryeowook doesn’t hold back the sigh that bubbles up. He’s not sure what he’s getting himself into, but he’s diving in headlong. “Let’s go home, okay? If you want to debut properly, you need to sleep. Preferably in a bed.”

Though Henry probably only caught the word ‘sleep’, it doesn’t matter - his face perks up ever so slightly. Ryeowook’s stomach does another little flip, which, he refuses to think about the implications of that - that’s a road he _does not_ want to go down. Instead, he drags Henry up onto his feet and out of the practice room; why he carries both their bags, one on each shoulder, he doesn’t quite know, but he does, while the boy carries his case. They both slump in the elevator, too tired for words even if they had any to share.

Though he knows he conveyed to the manager that Henry is coming with, he's forgotten the words that came out of his mouth as soon as he's said them. Whatever. It's obvious enough, when he loads Henry's violin case into the vehicle, and tugs the boy in so that they're both seated next to their bags in the back, hardly a hair of space left between the two of them. The manager meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, but says nothing. Good. Ryeowook's not up for any further discussion.

He’s so tired that it takes several seconds of the cool night air washing over his face before he realizes that means the door’s open and he’s supposed to get out and actually go into the building.

(And yet, he still takes both bags again.)

Since they have to be quiet, they leave their things by the front door. Ryeowook’s not confident he can sneak all that in without waking anyone up. It’s difficult enough to walk quietly to the kitchen to get something out of the fridge for Henry; they don’t have much that doesn’t need heating.

In the harsh light, Henry looks wide-eyed and grateful, asking very politely in a whisper if it’s okay. Far too politely despite them only being two years apart in age. Ryeowook again feels bad for him, which comes out as all but commanding him to eat.

After licking his lips, the boy devours what he’s been given in a couple of seconds. Ryeowook doesn’t have the heart to scold him for eating so quickly. He knows they’re both eager to sleep, and that’s the same reason that he doesn’t insist on Henry taking a shower, noise aside. Though he was drenched in sweat earlier, the boy looks like he’s about to fall asleep on his feet, so Ryeowook gives him his own spare sleep clothes to wear, then turns so that their backs are to each other as they change.

He’ll wash those tomorrow, he thinks. With everything taken care of at last, the day was catching up to him. He falls asleep with Henry right next to him, warm and strangely content.

*

Ryeowook’s excited, though he knows he shouldn’t be. The polite, _adorable_ , hardworking boy he regularly sees in the practice rooms deep into the night is going to be joining them!

The stylists had changed Henry into a bright yellow shirt and a long, plain necklace. He looks better in that than the elaborate outfits they had on earlier, Ryeowook thinks, running his index finger over his right earring. (He’s not about to risk messing with his hair just to fidget.)

Still, because Henry’s only in a couple of the shots, most of his time is spent waiting. Ryeowook thinks he looks lonely.

Sticking to simple sentences as much as he can, he keeps Henry company during breaks and others’ individual and pair shots. Ryeowook asks him questions about his family, food, and whatever they can manage between them with gestures and Ryeowook’s very, _very_ limited English, often dissolving into giggles at their elaborate efforts or things like his important questions about bears. (The only thing he knows about Canada is that it snows a lot. It made _perfect sense_ to ask about bears.) They get into one of those loops where one of them laughing made the other laugh harder, to the point that when they do manage to stop laughing, just making bear claw hands at each other’ll set them both off again at the drop of a hat.

For that short span of time, Henry’s incredible shyness seems like a memory belonging to someone else entirely. It’s… kind of amazing to see him open up.

By the third short break, even that has reached its limit. Everyone there seems to start chattering at once, breaking off into twos and threes. Ryeowook’s eyes find Henry without meaning to. The boy is hanging back looking lost, so Ryeowook takes pity on him.

“Henry, come on!” He says in English, waving him over. He smiles when Henry takes the seat next to him. Henry smiles back even bigger, and all Ryeowook can think is, _Wow, he is **so cute**_. He pinches Henry’s cheek.

Henry pouts at that, which does _not_ make him look any less cute. Ryeowook wiggles his foot, taps the chair leg with his heel, and generally vibrates with excitement at the thought of having Henry with them. But what to do to bridge the gap? Making him feel welcome would’ve been difficult enough without the added barrier of his poor Korean; Ryeowook remembers well the awkwardness of training with the group for only two months when the rest of them had known each other for years. Telling each other their favorite seasons could only do so much.

Then he got an idea. Something that needs no words.

Or, just a few words.

Ryeowook pulls his phone out of his pocket and shows it to Henry, who looks confused for a moment. “Good,” Henry says, making a thumbs up.

“Ah, no,” Ryeowook replies with a friendly chuckle, navigating to one of the games on the phone. “Here. You can use this,” he says, pushing it into Henry’s hand. The bouncy digital music looped while Henry looked at the screen, bringing it close to his face and squinting at it. Then he sits up, stiff as though he’s nervous.

“Is it okay?”

“Yeah, go ahead. I know how boring these are.” Though he suspects Henry didn’t entirely understand, the boy got the gist, pressing a couple of buttons to try to figure out the controls. He turns to Ryeowook for a second.

“Thank you very much!” He bows shallowly, three times in quick succession, before he starts a new game.

Though Ryeowook couldn’t help but feel a little competitive at the earlier spoiling Henry got from the other members, he’s happy to do a little spoiling of his own. Henry was so clearly grateful, and he’s smiling now, getting happily absorbed in playing for the next few minutes.

Between looking at the screen as Henry plays, Ryeowook steals sideways glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He found that Henry’s happiness made him happy too, the feeling far stronger than he thought it would be.

He also found that he likes the idea of having Henry around more, getting to help and guide and support him. The boy would likely move in with them, and though it’d be yet more crowded than it already is, at least he wouldn’t be lonely. Ryeowook thinks that joining them will be good for him.

Things didn’t turn out that way.

*

Extra one-on-one dance training has left him drained. He needs it - he knows he could be better, and he _wants_ to be better, no, not only that, **has** to be, and with the China group’s debut coming up, he has to work harder than ever, somehow.

After so many hours, putting one foot in front of the other is a feat. Then he hears it, though he doesn’t know why he’s surprised, why his eyes fly wide open for half a second. He follows the sound of the violin, sneaking into the room and sitting down against the wall, trying not to cry at the beautiful music Henry is drawing out from the instrument. Ryeowook admires not only his talent, but his perseverance, too, how much he's gone through and is still going through, how he’s trying to get through it in the most positive way he can in this situation.

Though anyone with a shred of decency knows he shouldn’t have to, Ryeowook thinks with a scowl. He hasn’t been able to stop his flare-ups of anger on Henry’s behalf, only keep them largely concealed beneath the surface.

Taking a slow, deep breath, he lets himself get lost in the music once again.

Unnoticed minutes later, the dance part of Henry’s routine comes. The part that, even with Henry in sweatpants and disheveled and his bangs sticking to his forehead, makes Ryeowook feel something quite different from admiration for the beautiful melody, something wild and out of control that he tamps down fiercely. It's one thing to, say, feel this strange way about Donghae, but it's much worse in this case.

The sight makes him feel things he only allows into his thoughts when no one is looking, when he's alone or everyone else is asleep. He doesn't- that is- he won't- It's not right and he's not happy about it, but it's there all the same, blazing into his mind when he lets his guard down for a moment. He hates it, but he's given up on extinguishing it. Settling for pushing it aside for a time is the best he's capable of.

Before him, Henry’s smooth motions make him appear to be gliding across the floor. He dances as if on water.

Ryeowook sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Nothing seems to entirely keep the desires at bay, or not for long. A day, perhaps. The whole subunit living and sleeping together in one giant room sadly does nothing to ward them off, though it certainly makes it easier to escape notice in the chaos.

How many times had he lain there in the dark, his eyes shut tight in defiance, willing his arousal to go away? Would he be doing so again tonight? There was nothing that could make sense of its persistence, yet it remained all the same.

A flourish. His heart is pounding in his chest. Never before had he felt so much like an intruder merely by watching Henry practice. But this feeling? Makes his watching something else entirely. Something it wasn’t meant to be. Surely, this isn’t how the audience is meant to react.

How shameful it is, to be a hidden audience of one feeling this way. Wanting… he’s not sure what.

He pushed it down harder still when Henry stood poised in the finishing move of his performance. The boy startles when Ryeowook claps, spinning around to look at him. Sweat rolls down the side of Henry’s face, his mouth hanging open to take deep breaths, his cheeks pink. He looks tired, and also something else, though Ryeowook can’t tell what. It might be wariness, or longing. Or he’s too tired himself and seeing what he wants to see and needs to stop thinking about it.

"Are you hungry?" Ryeowook asks. At that, the unreadable expression disappears, replaced with Henry's sweet, innocent smile.

He resolves to work twice as hard to help Henry become successful. The boy deserves to smile always.


	2. 2008

_2008_

To say that he hadn’t been sure if he would do okay would do a disservice to the drawn-out mental breakdown he’s been having the last couple of days. Every spare moment, he’s been silently mouthing the “Kiss Goodbye” lyrics to himself, when he wasn’t practicing up to the knife’s edge of risking his voice. He’s had so much tea that he’s not sure he ever wants to see the stuff again.

But he did it. And it went well. He hopes.

He can’t remember much of it, not really, only the nauseating worry. Urgh. He puts his hand over his mouth; he _still_ feels nauseous.

Somehow, it’s easiest to confide in Henry, though he doesn’t quite know why. Could be because they were already sitting together before. He tugs on Henry's sleeve. "I felt like I was going to faint!" He whispered loudly.

Henry beams at him and reassures him, “You did good! You did really good!” accompanied by a thumbs up. “Voice… beautiful!” The fatigue is clearly wearing on him too, but he ignores it as they all do, throws a casual arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders and adds in Chinese, “Impressive!” (At least, that’s the meaning of that word as best as he can tell.)

“Thank you,” Ryeowook replies clunkily, with a momentary smile; the earnest string of compliments _has_ bolstered his spirits. He can’t help but think, _Ah, what a sweet kid_ , and leans into Henry as they sit waiting.

He’s surprised to realize he’s still shaking a little. Henry must notice it too, because his other hand slips into Ryeowook’s, only long enough to give a quick, furtive squeeze, same as he himself did in the van right before they got out. The shaking eases. Ryeowook is even more surprised that the gesture he’s made so many times was returned at all, fueling something mysterious that burns warm and bright inside him.

*

The first time Henry cries at night in their shared hotel room, it breaks Ryeowook’s heart. He knows what the boy is going through. They all know. It’s impossible _not_ to know. And though he’d made his position clear in subtle but unmistakable ways, having the full aftermath right in front of him is… harder. There’s a difference between seeing a hint of red around Henry’s eyes in the practice room mirror in passing or his slumped shoulders backstage and this, seeing and _hearing_ it a few steps away, the pain echoing in Ryeowook’s chest in agonizing pulses.

He can’t ignore it any longer.

There was a pause when his feet touched the floor. This is the last moment to back out, to pretend that he’d heard nothing. He couldn’t do it.

Having decided that, he goes all out.

This is no perfectly-appropriate arm around the shoulders backstage and insufficient platitudes, either. Nor is what he’s facing one or two stray tears. No, the sound makes it clearer up close: what lies before him is face-drenching waves that feel endless and can’t be stopped for anything, and Ryeowook gives the flood the silence and space it deserves, his chest pressed to Henry’s back and their legs folded together almost unconsciously and his right hand stroking Henry’s hair. He kept doing it until his arm started getting tired, then still kept on, Henry’s trembling subsiding so, so slowly.

It’s one thing to have [dozed together for a bit on the floor](https://youtu.be/txD39ZoMvXc?t=2m52s) while shooting the video for Me after they’d been up working almost nonstop since four AM, Henry curled around him, enveloping him. One of the staff prodded them awake, and Henry pulled him upright, at which point they realized that Donghae was talking into a camera and they had to quickly look like they were doing something that _wasn’t_ napping on the floor cuddled together.

What’s happening right now is something different entirely.

They can hardly communicate well enough for him to ask, but Ryeowook nonetheless suspects that this isn’t only due to today’s specific cruelities. He knows full well that things build up and build up and you keep smiling and pushing it down until it won’t stay down anymore.

Being young and scared and alone like this is hard enough, but to be hated, too? Anyone would crack at least once, is what he figures. So when all that’s left is shaky breathing and sharp sniffs, Ryeowook silently hands Henry a couple of tissues, then reaches for a water bottle next to his own bed, never entirely breaking physical contact. After handing that over as well, he puts his arm over Henry’s waist, his nose ending up in Henry’s hair. He can hear the soft puff of the water bottle being dropped onto the bed after Henry closed it but doesn’t bother doing anything about it. It rolls off the edge.

Ryeowook pulls the blanket up around them both before returning his arm to its previous position wrapped around Henry’s middle. This close, he can feel the boy’s breathing even out, then deepen and grow quieter. As if their schedule wasn’t grueling enough, the poor thing must be exhausted after a crying fit like that, he thinks.

There was no thought of moving away because he had already fallen asleep.

The manager who wakes them for the next day’s filming narrows his eyes when he comes in and sees their positions, staring suspiciously at Ryeowook without saying a word for a long moment. A frisson of fear shoots directly from his expression down the length of Ryeowook’s spine.

At last, the man barks at him to get up. Ostensibly, the harsh tone was directed at them both. Ryeowook knows better. His naivete was long since gone, but he doesn’t want any trouble either, so he gets up and wakes Henry and gets them both ready to go, like he’s expected to do.

That particular manager continued with the usual routine after that, but every day thereafter, his eyes would only land on Ryeowook with steely-eyed contempt when they did at all, as though he was something terrible and untrustworthy. Not like someone wayward or delinquent; no, it was a look like he was _scum_.

While Ryeowook had encountered people being distant or cold - it was inevitable that some people wouldn’t like you - this was something he hadn’t experienced since his school years. He’d had fellow students who despised him for no reason he could see, but here and now, from someone who knew him in person and worked with him? Weren’t they all adults now?

Hadn’t he gotten enough of that in his life?

No matter how many times he looks back on it, he doesn’t think he did anything wrong. He doesn’t _feel_ like he did anything wrong. Only he must’ve, except there was no lecture or yelling, just an ice-cold stare. It shakes him to the core. The fear doesn’t leave, even once that particular manager did.

His legacy was set in stone, opening Ryeowook’s eyes to the world around him. If there’d been signs of that man’s suspicion before, he hadn’t noticed. Now, he sees shadows in whispering among staff and danger in a look quickly darting away. He’d been tried and found guilty of a crime that had never been named.

And it all started in that brief moment. Though it was the first time he had offered comfort in such a way, he can never forget how it had taken him less than a second to know, with bone-deep certainty, that it would be the last.

*

Covered in sweat. That’s the only thing he can think about, stumbling into his room after so many hours of rehearsal - that he’s covered in sweat and he needs to get it off his face _right now._ He beelines for the sink, starting with rinsing with water to feel less disgusting, followed by a quick cleanser and some moisturizer. His reflection looks tired, haunted by the ghost of sleep he hasn’t gotten, but there’s something more important right now.

He spends a little too long toweling his face, and a little too long racing to change into some dry casual clothing, and takes a little too long before he knocks on Henry’s door.

Before long, Henry opens the door, waving him in while he’s on the phone. Since he’s speaking English, Ryeowook assumes he’s talking to someone back home. _Good. He needs that,_ he thinks.

He sits on the bed, up against the headboard, letting the words wash over him without trying to understand them. He likes how relaxed Henry sounds, how content, and the way the words flow easily.

Ryeowook feels a blush steal across his face for an embarrassing few seconds. He doesn't _want_ to like that, not _that way_ , but he does, apparently. _What a great discovery to make,_ he thinks, scowling at his knees. _You and your stupid crush._

As soon as his fatigue-addled mind notices that Henry’s done talking and has hung up, though, he quickly wipes the expression off his face. It’s not about his own weird problems. Except for performances like these, his family is at most a couple of hours away, after all, and has even visited the dorms before. A totally different situation.

“Were you talking to your family?” Ryeowook asks, his brows lifting with inquiring sympathy, his mouth in a wobbly almost-smile to try to show that he understands that it’s difficult. Henry nods twice. He looks back at his phone for a while before pocketing it, hopping onto the bed to sit cross-legged on the corner. He looks like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

Ryeowook’s heart aches for him. The pain is a palpable, physical thing, made all the worse because of the gap in understanding that he’s not sure can really be bridged. “You miss them, right?”

Across the bed, Henry bends one knee up, drumming his fingers on his kneecap. “Yeah… It’s hard during the holidays.” He turns around and propels himself backwards so that he’s up against the headboard too, next to Ryeowook but not touching. He slumps down. The deep breaths he takes make it more noticeable each time he deflates.

Ryeowook goes to stroke his hair, but sees that he’s still sweaty and lightly rubs his back instead. Henry gives him a weak sideways smile that drops as soon as he’s made it. They sit together for a little while as the slumping gradually reverses itself, or turns to regular tiredness.

It never fails to disturb Ryeowook how he likes Henry's scent even when the other man is sweaty and gross. (It’s too strong, yes, but not _bad_ , and he doesn’t understand _why_ or _how_ that could be possible.) Yet another intrusion into his sanity that he shakes off. “I’ll treat you to a nice meal when we’re done tomorrow.”

Henry’s gaze is steadier and his smile is wider this time, if not by much. Though his eyes are no less sad, it’s an improvement. It’s what he can do. “That sounds great. Thanks, hyung.” He looks around the small room, takes a long breath. “I need to practice violin for a little while.” Whatever Ryeowook had expected him to say, it wasn’t that. “Do you want to go to bed?”

It’s what he _should_ want. “Do you want me to go?” He asks instead. After a second of hesitation, written in Henry’s shoulders drawing in and his brow furrowing, he shakes his head, eyes pointed to the ground.

“Then I’ll stay a little longer.”

Henry nods at him, seemingly unable to do more. He’s hardly put his feet on the floor when Ryeowook stops him.

“Hey! Go wash your face first, you’re all sweaty.”

“Fine, fine.” Henry grumbles, but Ryeowook’s watching him like a hawk to make sure he does it, so he doesn’t miss the other man’s face softening into a touched look, tinged with fondness. (In the back of his mind, Ryeowook begins to worry at the sheer time and energy he’s apparently invested into observing Henry. It doesn’t escape his notice that he’s doing it literally right this second.)

The tap squeaks when the water’s shut off. The man looks much better now, some of his endless supply of energy returning. He shoots Ryeowook another smile, one of those quick looks to acknowledge the other’s presence, then carefully gets his violin and bow out and… what looks like some kind of rubber piece that he puts on the strings with utmost care.

As soon as he starts playing, it’s glaringly obvious that the piece works to lower the volume of the instrument. Ryeowook feels silly for not recognizing it right away. That aside, he relaxes against the headboard, watching with a soft smile while Henry runs through scales and warm-ups. He loves that look of concentration, at once fierce and somewhat tender.

When Henry starts playing in earnest, the difference from the rubber device is clearer still. The sound comes out darker somehow, fitting for the slow, sad melody, making tears well up in Ryeowook’s eyes all the more easily. He loses control of his emotions the sleepier he gets. He’s still here. Because he knows that Henry hates admitting that he’s lonely, Ryeowook is going to stay as long as he possibly can.

He opens his eyes when the music stops.

Sitting up straighter against the headboard doesn’t help any; he feels his eyelids drooping. A spike of fear shoots through him. It’s too dangerous to stay any longer, so he half-fakes a yawn. In a better world, he would let himself fall asleep here, or ask to stay, or do anything except force himself to throw his legs over the side of the bed and lever himself up to standing. Every step he takes that’s closer to leaving is harder than the last.

 “I’ll see you in the morning,” he makes himself say, to which Henry makes an acknowledging sound, meeting his eyes with another sad smile. The man seems to shrink in on himself without moving a centimeter.

“I mean it! I’m coming back in the morning to check that you’ve showered.” Ryeowook points menacingly as he says that, or tries to.

That gets Henry to laugh weakly. “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” he says cheekily, closer to his usual self. With everything put away, leaving him at loose ends, he’s visibly restraining himself from pulling Ryeowook into some roughhousing. Which is good, because there’s the “we're all already kind of gross anyway so you're fair game” kind of grossout and then there's the “I've already cleaned myself up and if you get me dirty again you will not live to see morning” kind of grossout, and Henry is wise to differentiate between the two.

Ryeowook’s torn, because he wants to let him anyway. To have any excuse not to leave yet.

Instead, using the best English pronunciation he can muster, concentrating to make the R’s the way Henry taught him, he says, “Merry Christmas,” then wishes Henry good night as he’s closing the door behind him.

Looking back would hurt too much. He feels it in the tension from his jaw to his lungs to his stomach, his clenched fists at his sides, the weakness hitting in his legs, his weaker heart pleading with him to turn around. No matter how much he wants to, he won’t make that mistake twice.


	3. 2009

_2009_

Ryeowook adjusts the photo frame sitting on his desk. It’s a picture from before that concert last year, with the santa suits and all. Zhou Mi had insisted with a smile that they should all take one together before the year was over, herding all their regular staff into it as well. All the more impressive was that his hasty placement of the camera before the timer went off still got everyone in there. Except for one ear and arm. Really not bad at all.

That gets Ryeowook thinking about the confidances that Zhou Mi seems to entrust him with so casually, his vocabulary surprisingly… expansive when it came to certain sensitive topics (and he had some idea of who was to blame for that), and then the vocabulary lessons he got in return, far different from the ones with the whole group.

Smiling, he taps his pencil on his desk, feeling warm and happy at the memories even though he was _so embarrassed_ at the time. There were a couple where Zhou Mi had had to resort to mixing a few words with hand gestures; the whole thing had left Ryeowook shrieking, _Why are you teaching me this! Why do I need to learn this!_ and laughing all the while, which made Zhou Mi laugh, which in turn made Ryeowook laugh harder. The whole thing ended with them howling with laughter in a pile of limbs on Zhou Mi’s floor.

Ryeowook starts flipping the pencil between his fingers. He’d forgotten until now that it was Henry who opened the door to check on them, his face half smiling and half puzzled when he saw them on the floor and asked if everything was okay.

And neither of them could answer the man for laughing too hard.

That brings Ryeowook’s thoughts to that manager who’d hated him. Only through the lens of experience could he look back and see that said manager must've realized he was gay, long before he himself could think the word. It wouldn't be the last time he'd encounter some sort of wariness or suspicion or distance, though it’s rarely so blatant.

It’s not hard to notice that he’s different, and from there, it’s a short trip to hatred for those inclined, as a not-small number were.

He stares at the blank paper, willing words to sprout up on it. Doesn’t work.

He retreats to his thoughts once more. He himself should’ve been tipped off by the chasm of difference between the years-long crush he had on a boy in a different class in high school and the solitary girlfriend he’s had, whose company he enjoyed but was otherwise so unenthusiastic about that it not only took him an entire three weeks to even bother with the ordinary milestone of holding hands, but also that they dated for a _year_ before he tried kissing her. And when he did, it was nothing like on TV or in songs because he felt… nothing.

Though breaking up was a mess - a year was a long time, after all - he didn’t feel right continuing once it’d finally hit home that his feelings for her were strictly friendly. Very much unlike the kinds of feelings for boys that he had discussed with Hanbit in whispers in the night.

Still, before, he’d assumed that at some point he would get romantic feelings for a woman. That didn’t happen. What _did_ happen was at least a half-dozen more crushes on guys. (Including one that he remains _deeply_ unhappy about.)

He leans back in his chair, staring at his blank, flat ceiling with a wisp of a sigh. Outside his door, he can hear indistinct yelling, and the sound of what used to be a plate. He thinks about going out there, maybe helping, but he’s morose and frustrated by the lyrics he still hasn’t written and wants to stay in his little bubble and think some more, get it all out of his system at once in hopes of being able to move on to other topics.

And to stop running away from himself. Right now, it’s time to face the facts.

Like the fact that he doesn’t just happen to be unusually tolerant. Or the fact that at least some - many - of which members he’s close to is no coincidence. That it’s possible some things… won’t ever happen for him.

Considering spring isn’t quite over, he’s learned a lot this year already. He’s learned to hold his head high, or at least that it was possible, and how to better cover his tracks.

Both of those, he learned from Heechul, who described himself as- what was it, he used a longer word. Right, bisexual. Heechul continually skirts the edges of plausible deniability, and seems to want the whole world to know, though he can't actually make that happen. Even if Ryeowook was of the same mindset, which he is _not_ , he couldn't get away with a quarter of what Heechul does. (He doesn’t have the looks for it. It’s not self-hatred, just simple facts.)

He also learned that someone would spot you and suspect who you were if you went within a city block of a gay club, no matter how thorough you thought your disguise was, and hurrying past while pretending to be engrossed in your phone was the only option when that happened. And that Heechul would laugh at him for that story but sympathize with having one-sided feelings for a bandmate (Zhou Mi unhelpfully - and cheerfully - chimed in that fucking helps, to which Ryeowook smacked his arm and sharply reminded him that they weren't all tall, handsome hookup kings, but it went without saying that his words held no real anger; he’s smiling at the memory even now). More surprising was learning that Zhou Mi was somehow the next best source for who was safe (or at least knew the right people to ask about that), and that tea with both of them with a side of gossip was amazingly healing.

Not more than ten centimeters tall, the smallest giraffe he's gotten sits floppy at the corner of his desk, right up against his lamp. It's been a steady confidant. Good listener. "I can't write a song about this," he says slowly, in the tone of one instructing a small child, petting its head all the while. Beneath his fingers, its tuft of hair is soft; it soothes him. "This won't do."

Once he adjusts his little companion, making sure it won’t fall over, he rests his chin in his hand, turning his head in his palm and staring in the direction of a poster on his wall without really seeing it. Trying to reel in his wandering mind. Accepting that he's failing yet again no matter how upset he should be about that.

Thinking about it more, Zhou Mi had an interesting sort of middle approach - discreet enough, but not taking pains to hide the occasional man he brought up to his room. Apparently, if you do it right, you can laugh it off if anyone gets suspicious. He knows how to do it right.

The three of them don't argue about their differences in this matter; each is aware of the trials and limitations of the other. Ryeowook’s learned those up close.

And then most importantly, after they’d blown up, he’d made damn sure that the company learned a thing or two as well.

See, a career in this industry is built on lies. As long as he kept his lies in order, and the company theirs, they would both profit from it.

The tap-tap of rain starts up behind him. He sighs and rolls his chair away from his desk. Obviously, nothing’s getting written today when this is all he can think about. Though he may still be able to make use of- some other feelings, he first needs space from them.

He rubs at a spot on his chest that almost feels like it hurts.

That settles it. Right now, he’d see if he could get some cleaning done. Anything to take his mind off of what kept intruding into it, day after week after month.

Or maybe he’ll go see if Kyuhyun’s around to help him use up some unproductive energy. The scabs on his knees from last time have healed up. Maybe he’ll get some on his back this time, he muses with a nonchalance that he knows would have shocked him only a year ago. Or, Kyuhyun mentioned a mystery something else he wanted to try…

*

Today is a good day. _Nine hours_ of sleep. Nine _glorious_ hours that left him feeling more human than he has in… weeks? Or months. Then he did well during recording, and well enough in Chinese class, and now, dinner.

Henry came with him even though he’s full, sipping a glass of cranberry juice between each excited train of thought. Normally, Ryeowook doesn’t like anyone being so chatty, but he justifies the exception to himself as language practice. If that’s not his only reason, well, so be it. There’re more important things to worry about.

Either way, he can’t begrude the other man the joy of talking about visiting his family earlier in the year. He’s happy to listen to Henry raving about how great it was and how relaxing, how much he liked seeing everyone and eating familiar food - Ryeowook chuckles at this and accidentally chokes a little, but recovers quickly, not wanting to interrupt - and then turning wistful as he talks about how he’ll probably miss christmas with them again, but hey, maybe he can fly home around the same time next year as he did this year?

He looks like he’s trying not to get his hopes up too high. Poor Henry. Ryeowook knows how much the man sitting on the other side of the table misses his mom especially. He’s not sure Henry realizes just how often he talks about her. _They must be really close_ , he thinks. _How nice._

Ryeowook pats his hand and tells him that he hopes that happens. What else can he do? It’s not up to him.

Largely confining himself to listening, he eats lots, uncaring of what it would take to balance it out later. Henry has a strange, yet somewhat endearing, quirk of praising him when he eats more than usual. To be honest, Ryeowook has no idea where the younger man could've picked up such an odd habit; it makes the anticipation of that praise no less compelling for it.

 _You and your stupid crush_ , he berates himself again, but he can't sink his own good mood. Not today. He's got good food, good company, he did a great job today, so he's going to enjoy all of it. Bask in it, even.

"My mom tried to teach me to make soup while I was there,” Henry says, a baffled crease between his eyebrows. “There's this one she makes- ah, I don't remember the name right now, she wrote it down for me. Anyway, it was hard because, because she doesn't, like, um, measure anything, you know? She just," he mimes throwing in a pinch and shaking a canister, "she just does it and I tried to look at the recipe... Yeah, I don't think it's going to work."

Ryeowook’s not sure he’s not being led into something. His mouth an amused curl, he asks despite his better judgment, "Want me to try it?"

"Please, hyung?" Henry makes an exaggerated pleading face at him. His bottom lip juts out and everything. Ryeowook puts his elbow onto the table, rests his chin on his palm, and grins indulgently at him.

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Thank you~!" Henry beams at him. It’s huge and so _happy_ that it brings on one of those traitorous flutters. "She really wants me to learn it. Said that I'll use it to win someone's heart one day. Kind of a weird thing to say, don't you think?"

The mere thought is enough to twist Ryeowook’s stomach into knots, but he forces out a laugh. "Yeah, it is. But she just wants the best for you."

"I suppose so. Since hyung is learning it first, though, maybe you'll win someone's heart with it," Henry says with a laugh of his own.

"Maybe," Ryeowook replies noncommittally. He takes a bite of whatever's closest to him without paying attention.

"But you have to let me try it first," Henry insists. "I need to make sure you get it right," he continues, smirking. "It won't work otherwise."

"What if I win your heart doing that, hmm? What will you do then?" Ryeowook smirks right back.

"It's too late for that. You already have it," Henry says with an exaggerated wink. He laughs, hearty and wide-cheeked, and it makes Ryeowook feel all sorts of things that're bound to keep him up at night. But he's not going to worry about that just yet.

Then Henry winks _again_ , but somehow _more_ over the top, including something that fell short of the rakish open-mouthed grin he was probably going for. It’s _so cheesy_ and _weird_ that Ryeowook’s braying laughter is a natural response, if anything. It takes him too long to get himself under control; a snorting laugh comes out every couple of seconds the first few times he thinks he’s gotten it.

Across the table, Henry beams like he’s just won first prize.

A few deep breaths fiiiiinally get the job done. “Who taught you to be so weird?” Ryeowook asks with a raised eyebrow, refusing to let him rest on his laurels. Henry scoffs.

“All of you.” Before Ryeowook can fire back, he pivots to, "Oh! That’s right. Can you, um-”

“What?” Ryeowook says, more indulgently than he’d like, at the same time as Henry continues.

“-come in for a few minutes when you drop me off? I have a song I've been working on that- that I want to show you." He tilts his head and smiles hopefully, continuing before Ryeowook has a chance to respond. "Pleeeeease? It'll be really quick this time. It's only one. I promise!" The words rush out, tripping over one another.

"Okay, I'll do it. But, you didn't come with me only to ask that, right?" Ryeowook says with a wry tilt to his mouth. Can’t let him off that easy. (As if the brat didn’t know he would agree.)

"Of course not!" Henry leans forward on the table. He quickly looks side to side, then holds his index finger up in front of his face, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't tell the others, but, actually,” he raises his eyebrows once, “you’re my favorite."

God help him, Henry's cuteness is reeling him in yet again.

And he can't bring himself to be upset about it.

"Is that so?" Ryeowook doesn't know how much of it is a joke. He'll take the warm, pleasant feeling anyway. "If that's the case, I'll come over."

“Thank you! I know it's too late to submit it for this album,” Henry pauses here to finish off his juice, and his mouth looks so red when he’s done that for a moment, Ryeowook risks missing what he’s saying, “but I'd like to have it ready before the next one. I really think this one could make it,” he finishes, smiling excited and toothy, so cute it hurts.

Outside, as they’re about to reach the car, Henry clasps his shoulder and leans in, down to his level and too close, to murmur in his ear, “You ate a lot today. Good job.” And there it is. Unwilling to give the appearance of enjoying this, Ryeowook shoves him and calls him a weirdo. They’re both all smiles, so it’s okay.

Not even the lingering muggy August heat could bring him down. He walks on clouds for days after that, feeling special and wanted and needed.

Like all his good days, the effect faded within a week, no matter the effort he put into calling up the calm, content feeling. No, he’s already off balance again. Not a single practice or recording session passed without the worst of his impulses rearing up to try to break through the surface.

This was getting out of control. The mere act of Henry turning away from him to talk to someone else sends his mood plummetting. _The higher you go, the harder you crash,_ he thinks bitterly. He couldn't keep living like this.

*

Turns out, he didn't have to. ‘Temporary disbandment.’ They’re all a mess. Heechul’s a mess, too. Feels like the whole world’s a mess. And whatever it is that he should be doing about that, he doesn’t have the strength for it.

He’s staring at the ceiling again, wide awake, hands behind his head on the pillow. The reason’s much different this time, though. The news still rattled him. Even alone, in the dark, away from murmurs and stony faces and the occasional tears, he could not escape it.

Nothing pulled him away from sleep worse than the uncertainty. Bad enough losing one more. But he's most worried about those still here.

About two in particular.

His hundredth sad sigh pierces the fragile sheet of quiet. The only thing he knows for sure is that no one knows what's going to happen to SJM. Which means, what are Henry and Zhou Mi going to do?

Tonight's the first time in a long time that being back in his own bed brings him no peace. He turns over to stare out his window. The few muted stars he glimpses offer him no answers.

His eyes suddenly feel damp.

Their usual year-end dinner's canceled. No one feels up to pretending any extra cheer.

There's so much else to worry about, he knows that, but he can't help it. They've already been put through so much; it's not fair to heap on more. It's not fair at _all_. There was a road that he could see into the future, one that made some sense, but now, it's been shrouded in fog.

He doesn't dare venture out for another glass of water. Someone'll be awake, that's just how it is now. Someone will be awake and look at him and he'll have to deal with their feelings too when his own are already too much.

The knowledge that his thoughts are going in circles does nothing to change it.

He sorely regretted wishing for something to change. He didn’t actually cause this, of course. But he'd give anything to be able to take it back, to not be left without two people he cared about deeply by his side the way he'd grown accustomed to having them, especially with their fates in turmoil. Hadn't they suffered enough?

Really, haven’t they all?

The smooth glide of the minute hand on his clock moves heedless of what it must see. And so, alone in his cold room, with only the stars and his worries and pain for company, he ends the third year of the crush that wouldn't go away in heartbreak.


	4. 2010

_2010_

_Be careful what you wish for._ What happened to Henry and Zhou Mi is that they moved in with the rest of the group. Like the disbandment, it was unknown exactly how long temporary meant.

He haphazardly convened a tea and talk session in Heechul’s room, once he’d gotten Heechul to _regularly_ eat a full meal at least every other day. This session was so far a sad, exhausted one, with no indication that would change. But they all need it. The three of them need to be together and unbottle the difficult and horrible feelings they harbor unwillingly. Or at least sit with each other while they stew.

At home, Heechul doesn’t talk much nowadays. It’s like it all gets used up when he has to work, and there’s none left after that. Not that it matters much when he stays in his room all the time.

…Most of the time. Just now, they were halfheartedly bemoaning some of the limitations upon them. A bitter aside that it doesn’t matter anyway on Heechul’s part cuts even that bit of normalcy short.

Neither Ryeowook or Zhou Mi respond with any mention of the casual sex spree the older man had embarked upon, which Ryeowook only knows about in the first place because Heechul's been answering 'how are you' with 'fucked some guy last night', or goes so far as to offer the information unasked on the days Ryeowook gets him to eat breakfast. Why Heechul thinks he needs to know that is beyond him; the man demands no response other than a second of acknowledging eye contact.

So they were _not talking about that._ It was difficult enough between the two of them and Donghae’s uncoordinated efforts to keep Heechul eating and showering and regularly changing his clothes.

They’ve shared their concerns with each other in private. Who else is there to tell? Who would understand what it's like to keep Heechul afloat when he's shrinking in on himself like this?

Ryeowook's been doing his best to cook for him because he knows that a home-cooked meal brought right to Heechul's desk is the surest way to get him to eat, no matter how unhappy he looks about it. He admits it’s manipulative. He doesn't care; he won't let Heechul - who didn’t laugh when he timidly asked in a stuttering whisper if it was true that hyung doesn’t hate men who have feelings for other men but instead boldly affirmed it, who listened to his confidance and took him under his wing, who he respects so highly and has given so much to him - wither away in a pile of his own misery.

But it’s not easy. What he really wants to know is, when will it get better? No one has the answer to that. So he doesn’t ask.

Maybe it’s better that they don’t have the broad-ranging discussions they’d had before - for all their differences, they were plagued by many of the same problems: the toll of the release valves they didn't have as celebrities, the community they struggled to build with each other, the bars and clubs they couldn't go to, dates they couldn't have, countries they couldn't run off to to be more free... These things couldn't be avoided, now and then. They all had a small handful of ordinary friends, ones that could do all those things if they chose, and often did. The very few boldest ones were out everywhere except to their families.

In the toughest times - times like these - they could usually admit to longing for the kinds of lives their non-celebrity friends have.

Ryeowook can’t imagine that life in any real way. Not now. Not when he's lived this one for so long.

Maybe it’s better to not go down that road right now because the big picture is too much, and they need to deal in the small, the personal, the things that make up every single day and get them to put one foot in front of the other. Maybe that’s all any of them can handle for a while.

So Ryeowook takes his turn to disgorge the desires he wishes he could rid himself of in the only place he can be sure he’s allowed to talk about it. It all comes spilling out of him in a messy, stumbling flood. His shoulders hunched, his eyes darting to the door every twenty seconds, he tells the two of them about each and every single thing that he’s finding himself liking too much. And there’s _so much_ of it.

There’s how much he liked quickly cooking some eggs for Henry in the morning, when his hair was still all over the place and he said an extra-cute thank you when the plate was set down in front of him. Mornings were when he smelled strongly of mint, with something else under it that definitely wasn’t mint but also wasn’t anything that could be labelled, but still drew him in, his body reacting in a way he really, really wished it didn’t. (He left that last part out. In fact, he didn’t go into any more detail at all because he definitely sat down and ate his own portion like a completely normal person and never, ever stared like a lovesick puppy at a sight that shouldn’t be cute in the slightest.)

And there’s also friendly sniping at each other when he pushes Henry to get into the shower and the occasional listening in outside his door when he's playing his guitar, off to the side of the doorway and out of view, and coming home and being asked about his day, and even being dragged out late at night when Henry and Donghae decide they want to go out to eat and rope him into coming with, often with whoever else is awake and able to be persuaded by pouting and puppy dog eyes.

Every step of the way, he’s ashamed, nauseous, unable to forget that this is a terrible time to talk about this and that he’s hardly the most affected by these events but if he keeps it in for even one more day, he’ll start screaming and just never stop.

Or worse, crying. He’s done plenty enough of that.

He’s shocked that he’s gone uninterrupted for so long; it’s a testament to their sorry state. If things were better, he’d be fighting to get a word in. If things were better, they’d be laughing. What a pathetic picture he must make, that the both of them are letting him go on like this. He goes on anyway.

“Also, there was this one time that, that Kyuhyun and Donghae and Henry were playing some game, and Henry was sitting there with dripping wet hair,” there’d been a growing damp patch on the back of his shirt, it was green, bright, bright green, the color clashed with his skin but he hadn’t said anything, “and- I- I grabbed a towel and wiped his hair for him and told him that it’s only February, he’s going to get sick. He laughed and said he was fine and I just about ran out of the room once I realized how I was acting. And,” his voice drops shame-low, “I make him tea sometimes, too.”

Ryeowook hasn’t looked up once for fear that he’ll lose his nerve, fail to tell of this terrible thing building up inside him and be left alone with it rotting inside his mind once more.

Zhou Mi lets out a short laugh, hardly more than a breath, before asking him, “What's the problem? You realize you do those kinds of things for almost everyone. You make me tea every time I visit this floor!” His tone is a friendly sort of challenging, but it’s enough to make Ryeowook freeze in something like a panic.

What’s the problem? Ryeowook likes having Henry around so much that it _scares_ him. He tries to make it seem normal, pinching his cheeks and playfully smacking him when he gets too rowdy and trading the inside jokes they've painstakingly built up since the days when they could barely be said to share a language.

But the way he feels is far from normal.

 _That’s_ the problem. It’s not what he’s doing, and he doesn’t do it all the time… However true his justifications to himself are, they’re not of much consequence here. The issue isn’t what or how often, but how he feels about it.

He has a suspicion that Zhou Mi wants him to say it, clearly and out loud. He can’t do that. He feels lightheaded at the thought of saying any more than he already has. This whole thing was a mistake. Why did he think it would help?

Once he’s regained his bearings, he shakes his head, and tries to put it into words that won’t leave him sick afterwards. "But, no, you don’t understand! I don't do it without meaning to, like this. And I don't feel this way when I do it for anyone else. I don’t know what I’m doing. Or, rather,” he amends, “it's like- I'm hypnotized. I do these things, and it makes sense at the time, and then I walk away and think, why did I do that?"

When he dares to raise his head, Heechul looks at him with gut-wrenching sympathy for a whole two seconds before squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. Zhou Mi might be similarly sympathetic, or it might be pity. Ryeowook's so lost that can't tell.

"What's happening to me?" He whispers at some point, after he doesn't know how long.

It’s the kind of question that needs Heechul’s characteristic bluntness. He stares, hoping for it. Waiting. A sort of begging.

Heechul finally looks at him, bleary-eyed, but doesn’t seem to have an answer. He opened his mouth, seemed about to speak, then only slumped down more in his chair with a with a loud exhale.

At some point, Ryeowook’s head is spinning and Zhou Mi’s hand rests heavy on his shoulder and he feels _awful,_ to have essentially asked for comfort from his friend at a time like this.

Now, now he's sure it's sympathy, and how clearly Zhou Mi doesn’t resent him for it only makes him feel worse about the whole thing.

"I don't know what to do." The admission is almost as hard as all the ones that came before it put together.

“It doesn’t matter. It all ends in pain anyway,” Heechul says from the depths of his hoodie. His voice is scratchy. This is only the second time he’s talked since they closed the door to his room, favoring sipping at his tea and scritching Heebum’s head.

When he makes his way out of that room, he loses the memory of exact words, compressed into the broad strokes of meaning far sooner than that typically happens. What else did they talk about? It’s already disappeared. He feels wrung out. He needs to lie down and also not talk for a week and, you know, maybe never see another human being again. That sounds great right about now.

The brightest sunlight, blazing in from the early afternoon, can’t change the fact that his unanswered question haunts him still. _“What’s happening to me?”_ The awareness pounds at the thick glass he’s put up inside of himself, and it’ll take more than a cup of tea to bring it crashing down. So he still doesn’t know. Not really.

But he really, really wishes he did, later in the day, when he turns from the cutting board, the song he was singing dying in his throat the instant he sees Henry across the room, standing with his hands in his pockets and that touched look on his face.

*

Why… are there peanuts on the floor?

He sighs and picks them up, dreading what he'll find further down.

For a second, he strongly considers turning around and pretending to be unaware, but he thinks better of it.

There’s a pile of bags on the table, presumably peanuts. Henry and Donghae are staring each other down across said table while they put something in their mouths at the same time, also presumably peanuts. Squeezing his eyes shut does nothing. They’re still there, so Ryeowook outright tells them, not disguising the exasperation in his voice, “I’ll stay out here in case you choke.”

The two of them continue just staring each other down with huge, full cheeks. After five more peanuts, Ryeowook is fully of the opinion that whatever this is, it’s stupid, and he wants it to end without risking anyone going to the emergency room.

He stands up and slams his hands down on the table. Nothing. Not a single flicker of attention. So he considers his options. Surprising Donghae makes it _more_ likely he’ll choke, so anything that risks that is out. He’s stubborn and doesn’t listen, and dealing with that is too much hassle, plus he could end up choking anyway, knowing his luck. What’s left is to make him give up the game on his own - and if there’s one thing that’ll get through to him better than a contest, it’s food.

The contents of the fridge are, sadly, somewhat lacking, but Ryeowook knows how to make do. “I suppose I'll just make some sandwiches and cut up some strawberries.”

Though that’s three more minutes that this nonsense continues, he keeps his cool about it, humming to himself all the while, and then purposely sets the plate right under Donghae’s nose. He works not to grin as he watches Donghae's concentration break again and again, his eyes darting to the plate. After breaking his glare a bunch of times, he lets out a frustrated noise, chews up and swallows the mass of peanuts in his mouth, and snatches up the sandwich, practically inhaling it in the time it takes Henry to declare his victory, cheering with his arms pumping up and down, just barely grabbing a small chunk of strawberry before Donghae's gobbled those up too.

“That's not fair!” Donghae whines. “You play favorites!”

Ryeowook clicks his tongue and says, “You're right, I'm being unfair.” He pauses for effect. “I’ll make Henry a sandwich too.”

Henry cracks up with laughter. Donghae whines some more, but that gets tuned out just like the scraping of the chair on the floor.

Ryeowook _is_ grateful, though, he thinks as he gets to work again. Whatever Donghae said to Heechul, it must’ve worked. Heechul’s thrown himself into going out all the time instead of holing up in his room. Ryeowook only has to coax him into eating once a week now; as much as the waste of money is a problem, it’s one that can be addressed down the line, since meals out with his friends takes care of most days, as well as the plates of peeled fruit with his name on them in the fridge that disappear by morning. A few nights where he’s stayed home and bought them pizza and watched a movie with them, using the lulls to make short asides about what he’s been doing and even occasionally what he’s feeling, makes it really feel like there’s light at the end of the tunnel of his grief.

Two more sandwiches made, he cuts each one into four triangles before setting the plates down on the table. His foot bumps up against Donghae’s; as a test, he presses his shin to Donghae’s calf, rubs up and down a couple of times, feels the solid muscle there, and is dismayed to find himself largely, if not entirely, unaffected.

He’s decided that he’s not going to think about what that means.

Meanwhile, Henry immediately devours one of the triangles, then says, “My mom used to cut them like this too. She said I got a sandwich like this once at, at a friend’s house, and wouldn’t eat it any other way after that.” He smiles to himself, his gaze not quite here. “She still did it when I was in high school. Before I left home.”

“So you were always a brat,” Ryeowook says with a cheeky grin, nibbling on one point. Henry grins back.

“Not sure. Were you born with a dagger in your mouth?”

“It was to prepare for you,” Ryeowook shoots back, popping the rest of the no-longer-a-triangle into his mouth.

“Oh, I’m hurt!” Henry dramatically cries out, pretending to fall backwards for a second. Ryeowook giggles at him.

“I’ll cut you some strawberries too when you’re done, you big baby.” He turned to Donghae. “What were you doing when I came here?” Donghae stared at him blankly, in the middle of chewing. Ryeowook belatedly realizes that that was part of his sandwich, but decides to be magnanimous and let it go this time.

Henry answers in Donghae’s place. “Donghae said he could fit more into his mouth than I could. We needed something to measure.”

“Who needs to measure with these cheeks?” Ryeowook reaches the short distance across the table to take Henry's face into his hands, smushing his cheeks together and wiggling them back and forth. "Silly." He then finally sits down to his own plate, or what’s left of it. And nearly falls off his chair just by sitting a little too hard. “Ugh! When are we going to get new chairs? I reaaaaaally hate the ones with no backs! They hurt to sit on for a long time!”

Donghae only mostly finishes eating the last of his stolen food before he turns and says, “But why did you stop me?”

“Because your contest was stupid. I didn’t want to have to take you to the hospital if you choked.” Ryeowook sees Donghae screwing up his face, but pays it no mind. “The more nuts you put in your mouth, the more dangerous it gets.”

“Just say something next time!”

“You don’t listen when I do,” Ryeowook sniffs.

Beneath the table, his foot ends up over Henry’s sock-clad one because the younger man stretched his legs out under the table, looking strangely content while the other two bickered. Upon realizing that’s what happened, Ryeowook felt this sudden jolt of nerves and a little bit of joy, and it was softened compared to before but unmistakably _there_ , and he hates himself a bit for it. So he puts the plates in the sink and rinses them off to give his face and his heart a minute to stop doing anything.

That’s what Henry’s last week before his classes started was like, when the group was home in the first place and not all passed out from exhaustion. All too soon, he was packed and ready for his flight. (Not without some help. _So messy._ )

“Hyung will miss me, huh,” Henry said in a teasing tone, throwing an arm over Ryeowook’s shoulders, who only laughed in answer. “It’s okay. I’ll have lots of music to show you when I get back.”

“You’ll do great,” Ryeowook said, and meant it. “Email me and tell me how you’re doing.”

Busy as he is, he’s almost grateful for the nearly-sleepless nights. Can’t think too much that way. Once a week, he’d get a short email and be in a good mood the rest of the day, giddy and bouncing off the walls; when three or four days would pass without one, he’d feel a low-grade sadness, as if something he couldn’t pinpoint was missing.

The yoga didn’t help as much as he’d like, either. Eventually, he stopped trying it altogether through sheer forgetfulness.

If all that nonsense wasn’t bad enough, when they’d finally gotten some breathing room again, he once had the most vivid, detailed dream that Henry was still here with them, play-fighting with him and whining that he was hungry _now_ and dancing in the living room out of nowhere. He dreamed of singing Henry to sleep, too, the other man lying contently next to him with the softest small smile. He jolted awake, swiveling his head left then right, that particular dream leaving him disoriented and panicked.

Finding himself alone in his narrow bed calmed him; he let his head fall back onto his pillow, regaining his breath as his heartbeat slowed back down. _What_ was _that?_ He thought when he’d gotten his bearings again. He couldn’t remember a single word of the mystery song, and in seconds, the melody had faded as well.

While he tried dozing for a few minutes, he couldn’t get back to sleep. _Might as well get some exercise in,_ he thought, resigned, tired. It would clear his mind. Hopefully.

It’d gone unnoticed just how many weeks had passed until Zhou Mi had come up for a visit, maneuvering him, in that way he had, so that it was just them sitting together, the older man calmly sipping his tea and petting Heebum on his lap. The reason Ryeowook noticed the time is because he’s been almost compulsively checking his phone.

“Henry hasn’t messaged you this week, right?”

At first, Ryeowook’s eyes go wide with shock. He was startled by the question, only then becoming aware of how distant and inattentive he’s being. Then the meaning of the words sinks in. He slumps in resignation. “You knew I still…?”

“Of course I know,” Zhou Mi says, not unkindly. “I recognize it well. I knew a long time before you said.”

Since he’s cornered anyway, Ryeowook checks his phone one more time. It’s only half a second to turn the screen on and off, so he doesn’t miss how Zhou Mi purses the corner of his mouth.

“Little Li Xu,” Zhou Mi says in a way that feels like emphasis without sounding it, “when will you stop hurting yourself like this?”

Ryeowook scoffs. “As if I'm not trying.”

Zhou Mi nods and puts his cup down, goes back to petting Heebum. “Be careful,” is all he says for a long while. He sips his tea once more, letting Heebum jump down off his lap. The cat makes a disgruntled-sounding mrow, curling around and rubbing against Ryeowook's legs next.

Unable to find any response, Ryeowook curls his hands around his own cup to warm them, though it’s summer now and he shouldn’t need it. He enjoys the sensation anyway. It grounds him.

Zhou Mi sighs. “I asked some friends. They all say this kind of relationship does not last long, you know. Maybe the knowledge is too hidden, but...” He leaves the rest unspoken. The implications carry through loud and clear. There’s a pause, but Ryeowook doesn’t know for what, since he wasn’t exactly unaware of how likely that was to be the case.

Zhou Mi rests his elbows on the table; he looks stiff with some kind of nervousness. “Listen, I'll help you, okay?” He makes an emphatic gesture with his hand that looks sort of like a ‘come here’ wave. “I'll find someone nice and cute you might like.” With a small smile, he adds, “I know you like cute men.”

Ryeowook smiles back hesitantly. “Thank you. That sounds good.” Anything to be rid of what plagues him. It could work.

The older man still hasn’t returned to his usual calm, though. _There’s something else he’s not saying_ , Ryeowook thinks. Zhou Mi pushes his cup towards the middle of the table, signaling that he’s done. Why is he being delicate about whatever this is?

"The company confirmed they're moving us soon.” Ryeowook’s caught off guard by the matter-of-fact announcement, and has no idea what his face is showing. “Why in the middle of summer, I don't know - going to be uncomfortable, isn't it?" Instead of the expected exaggerated sigh, Zhou Mi looks at him as though waiting for something. "But it'll be before the end of July for sure. Probably the first week." The feeling of being scrutinized rachets higher and higher.

 _So he’s not coming back here,_ Ryeowook thinks. He knows better than to say that out loud. Not wanting to show a break in their understanding, he makes a noncommital hum in response. Inside, he feels a mix of relief and a strange, stomach-churning despair that he hopes doesn’t show.

 _Stop that. Why would you feel_ bad _? This is a good thing. It’s **just a crush**. I’ve had plenty of these. It’ll go away. I won’t see him all the time and that’ll make it go away._

Maybe that’s the message hidden in the twists of the air. _Stay away, for your own sake._

*

The nice tweet he sent earlier today belied the fact that for the first time, he’d forgotten Henry’s birthday until a concert a month before it. He might well have forgotten until the last second, if it weren’t for that.

Perhaps he’d done too good of a job avoiding thinking about Henry after the man had come back to Korea and moved out. He’d busied himself with other things - work, practice, composing, a few discreet dates that were set up for him - and strived to only reply to messages, avoiding starting a conversation (and failing sometimes). Which meant going anywhere from two days to a week without talking. So it was working pretty well, he thought.

(They still saw each other for work, of course, and he still had a habit of making sure Henry had enough water or bringing extra snacks with him, just in case. Each time, he hated himself for it just that little bit more. But changes have to happen one at a time.)

Then there was a stage thing - not that he puts any stock in stage things, but, he’d been giving chase with a water bottle and caught Henry’s eye along the way, and was in the middle of a laugh and so he looked all excited and happy, and then Henry shortly caught up with him and threw an arm over his shoulders and it was nice. And then they both moved on to other things, but it jarred loose something in his mind later on.

Specifically, that he’d forgotten it was Henry’s birthday soon! In only a month!! Oh no, he didn’t have a present or anything planned! In the quest to rid of himself of unwanted feelings, he’d come _this close_ to being a bad friend, which is _not_ what he wanted to happen.

First chance he got, he ran out to get a nice bottle of cologne. The downside to avoiding talking too much is that he had less of an idea than usual what Henry might want, but his reasoning is that picking out a good cologne isn’t likely to go amiss. So he bought that and put it in a nice, colorful gift bag.

Then he hesitated.

Sure, he felt bad, but did he _really_ want to do this? He _could_ just send a message and leave it at that…

That left him conflicted right up until today. He apparently hasn’t learned anything, because he does send a message. Telling Henry that he’s coming over to bring him cake. Sending it a little after noon to avoid any conflict with the small party with other friends that he’s pretty sure is happening in the evening. (He doesn't have a single thought of going to that. That way lies all sorts of new trouble.)

His phone buzzes right after he’s gotten his jacket on. ‘okay~ see ya soonsoon~ ^^’

Silently, in his mind, he calls himself an idiot, grabs the gift bag, and goes to pick out a small cake.

So. Here he is. “Oh, it’s a mess in here.” He kicks aside a pair of pants, becoming alarmed when they very briefly stick to his sock before he shakes them off more vigorously. Henry kindly relieves him of the steamed buns he’d picked up nearby so that he no longer has to balance them on top of the cake box.

Of course, Henry then sits down and bites into one. Birthdays entitle one to that sort of thing, though, so Ryeowook follows the urge he had anyway to set out plates and utensils. They exchange a handful of expected greetings and pleasantries while he picks at his own from the pile. With that out of the way, he hands over the gift bag. “Happy birthday.”

“Oh, thank you!” Henry opens the bottle and smells it. “It smells nice!”

“It’s good, right?” Ryeowook grins. “I almost got you a giant crate of ramen, you know.”

Henry looks at him with amused disbelief. “You’re lying.”

“You’re right.” He likes the silent message they share at that moment, a mixture of understanding and mischief and something conspiratorial and a little supportive that has no way to be said out loud but nonetheless passes between them without static.

“I missed you,” he says after it passes. He regrets it immediately; the best he can do is not let it linger. “You have other plans later, right?”

It works well enough to get them onto catching up, peppered with stories from school that hadn’t made it into the emails, as well as a couple that had. That naturally ran out much faster than the food.

 _He’s still so cute when he eats,_ Ryeowook thinks at one point. He frowns a little. _Damnit. Back to square one._

They ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable, trading the occasional smile. Feeling like it was just them in this little bubble, locked away together against the cold and the noises of traffic outside, brought all those feelings surging back, a veritable tidal wave of them. These simple things are the very ones he wants. They are the very ones he cannot have. So he will enjoy them while they're here, and deal with the consequences to himself later, when he's away again and can convince himself better.

Cutting the cake is the only thing to do with his hands that doesn’t _look_ nervous, so he does that without prompting.

When the front door opens soon after, Zhou Mi’s voice comes through only a second later. “Smells good!”

“Hyung, come eat! There’s plenty!” Ryeowook happily waves him over. “I didn’t know how many people would be home.”

“So you bought the whole cart?” Zhou Mi quips, but turns bright and cheerful in the next instant. “Thanks!” He rattles the wooden chair when he drops himself onto it, and seems to grab a bun at random. His eyes go sideways in Henry’s direction for half a second, wearing a watered-down version of his typical teatime expression.

“I just went out for _coffee_ ,” he says.

 _Oh._ Ryeowook snickers. So they’re playing _this_ game. _Today? Just now? Wow._ He’s excited to know about it, part for fun and part as a sort of vicarious thrill, but they can’t exactly go into detail with Henry here. “Was it sweet?” He asks as a now-familiar workaround.

“So-so,” Zhou Mi says in that funny mock-stuck-up, dismissive way he has about these things. “A little bitter.” Ryeowook laughs harder.

“Is tha-“ He cuts himself off with another laugh. His eyes, really, his entire face scrunches up with glee. “Is that so?”

Zhou Mi makes another quick, almost imperceptible sideways glance. Ryeowook absentmindedly pats Henry's hand, asks if the cake is good without looking at him, and doesn't register the answer he gets, remaining trained on Zhou Mi's face for any shift that'll give away the next part of the story.

Ever obliging, Zhou Mi makes an expression of 'can you believe this?' Ryeowook smirks without yet knowing the ending. Leaning his elbow onto the table, he tries to take another bite of his own bun, but then Zhou Mi adds, “Needed more milk. A _lot_ more milk.”

Ryeowook has to put his bun down because he’s laughing so hard, his forehead pressed to his arm on the small table. It takes him a good thirty seconds to stop. “I see,” he finally manages to get out, since he can’t say, _Really, that fast?_ One more giggle catches him unaware. He’s gone too long without that sass. “You know, I could use, pfft, a good cup of coffee one of these days.” He rests his chin in his hand, elbow digging into the table, and grins so wide that it tires the muscles in his face for a moment. “Let, ah, let me know if there’s a good cafe you can recommend,” he finishes with an amused smirk aimed at Zhou Mi, who raises his eyebrows in a skeptical, challenging way that seems to say, _We’ll see about that._

How badly Ryeowook wants to say, _Come on, I only chickened out **once** ,_ but he doesn’t.

The sharp sideways movements of Henry’s head, back and forth a couple of times, catch his attention. When he stops, he faces Ryeowook, looking bewildered. “I don’t know why this is funny, but, I thought you don’t like coffee?”

“I drink coffee once in a while,” Ryeowook haughtily replies.

To his right, Zhou Mi snorts, and his hand flies to his mouth. He says, muffled, “Don’t do that while I’m chewing!”

On his other side, he catches Henry mumbling something that starts with ‘what’ but can’t make out the rest.

Still, there’s this moment. When the disappointment in his tone registers, there's a moment, no, there is, there it is. An entire universe in a moment where Ryeowook considers telling him. Explain the joke, his feelings, everything… get it all out there, out from where it festers and churns inside him. But he’s so terrified of the prospect, so fearful of one secret unraveling another until he's left exposed and shaking and weak and _rejected_ , _humiliated_ , that a moment is as long as he considers it. No more than that.

It passes like an ill-timed food craving or a cutting remark that would cross into outright cruelty - suppressed, then ignored. Repeat as needed.

It’s a moment of impulse driven by all sorts of feelings that he does not want, so a moment is all it shall be.

“Have you used the toaster oven I got you yet?” He quickly asks Henry instead, as a diversion.

Henry whines. “Hyung, of course I know how to heat things up!” He’s actually pouting now and it’s _so cute_ , god help him.

“He left a plastic cooking timer on top of it once while using it and almost destroyed the toaster oven,” Zhou Mi retorts.

“Traitor! How could you reveal my secrets?!”

“It's _my_ cooking timer!” Zhou Mi gestures with his half-eaten bun, sending bits of filling scattering across the table. For once, he doesn’t seem to notice. “It was cute before that happened and it doesn’t have feet anymore, feels weird when turning it, and you should learn to cook.” He sticks up his nose, but it's all playful. At least the last part is, for sure.

Ryeowook laughs and puts his arm around Henry's shoulder and pinches his cheek. Henry takes it in stride and eats another forkful of cake. “You really _should_ learn to cook, though,” Ryeowook teases for what must be the hundredth time.

In reply, Henry garbles something through a mouthful of food. Ryeowook shoves him away.

“Gross! Finish chewing first!”

Henry pouts some but does. Mostly, anyway. “I can make eggs,” is what he defends himself with, intelligibly this time. Then he changes course. “And it's my birthday! You should be nicer to me!”

Ryeowook laughs and wipes a smudge of frosting off Henry’s nose. “This isn't nice? Gooooooot it.” He then interrupts Henry's attempt to get more cake by throwing his arms around him and pecking each cheek, back and forth.

All the while, the birthday boy complains with giggles bubbling in his voice. “Aah, why, hyung, stop that!” He squeezes his eyes shut but, and this will seem strange and confusing later, makes none of his usual escape attempts.

He _does_ , however, turn completely red and can’t seem to look anywhere but at the table, seeming nonetheless kind of pleased. A moment’s reflection almost makes Ryeowook regret giving into the impulse, though he can’t quite get there.

Soon after, a soft touch lands on his hand, and he turns to see Zhou Mi giving him the quickest sad, meaningful look, who then says as brightly as if he hadn't, “A friend recommended this hand cream to me and it's really good! You said you were looking for one, so do you want to try it?”

He takes the offered out. “That sounds good!” He gets up, pats Henry’s back, sees that he's still flushed red. “You can have the rest of the cake, since it's your birthday.” Zhou Mi takes his arm and leads him away towards his room, though he doesn’t get him inside until after Ryeowook calls back over his shoulder, “See, I'm being nice!”

As soon as they’re inside, Zhou Mi tells him, “I can’t believe you did that!” Then, more quietly, “You really should stop hurting yourself like this.”

Ryeowook sighs and says back to him, just as quietly, “I know.”

Neither of them say anything more for a bit.

“I think you'll like this one,” Zhou Mi asserts with easy confidence. “It smells nice, and feel how soft my hand is!”

Ryeowook takes the hand he's holding out and strokes it, regretting yet again that he doesn't feel anything extra when he does that. At least they could've had some fun - would've, he’s sure, if either of them had ever signaled an offer. "Wow! So soft!" His free hand half covers his mouth as he says it.

“It works great,” Zhou Mi assures him in both words and hand gestures. “Here, it's this one.” Ryeowook takes out his phone and takes a picture of the label and thanks him. His friend quickly acknowledges it, then goes back to a quiet voice when he asks, “How long have you been here?”

“Mm, I mean, not more than an hour, I think?”

“I love having you visit, but… I’m worried about you.” For a second, Zhou Mi cranes his neck to look out his doorway. “You said you were giving up.”

Ryeowook can’t help but sigh, even though he’s about to agree. “I’m trying. Don’t look at me like that, I already _know_ it’s not good for me.” He awkwardly shuffles his feet. “But… It’s just, don’t you think it would be strange if I forgot his birthday?”

“I suppose…” Zhou Mi concedes with a hesitant expression, his eyes full of sympathy. He rubs Ryeowook’s upper arm. The pressure is soothing and friendly; it goes on for several seconds of silence. “Are you leaving?” He finally asks.

Ryeowook smiles sadly and nods. He wraps his arms tightly around his friend’s middle, at once grateful and still sad and whatever that stomach-tightening feeling is called. Zhou Mi’s arms go around him in return, though they end up around the top of Ryeowook’s back at best. He chooses to not resent this fact in his time of receiving comfort.

What he does do is quietly hand over a small gift he’d brought back from his trip, after his friend at last let go. Along with the expected thanks, that gets him hugged _even tighter_. Thankfully short, since air is a friend he treasures much more.

Resolve strengthened, they head back out into the living room. It’s plain to see from here that Henry really did finish the cake, though he looks morose sitting there by himself. He perks up when he sees them, and Ryeowook has to tell the flutter just under his ribs that it still doesn't mean anything, merely that the man gets lonely sometimes and likes company. Especially _on his birthday,_ fuck, get a grip already.

"Ah, you really finished it! Good job!" Ryeowook says as he reaches the table, ruffling Henry’s hair. Henry whines, but he's got an adorable half-smile while he’s fixing his hair, as always. "I hope everything goes well for you today!" Because Ryeowook hasn’t managed to shed that whole problem of watching and being overly attentive, he still sees how Henry looks surprised to find him pushing his arm through the sleeve of his jacket.

“Oh, hyung, are you leaving?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m busy today,” he says, trying to look it.

“But… You just got back…” Wow, did that hit too hard, even without seeing his face.

 _He’s not dismayed, just surprised. He’s seeing friends and calling his mom later, you_ know _that. It’s right there in your messages._ Those are the things he tells himself while he’s putting his jacket back on.

He allows himself one last hug, buffered by the layers he’s wearing. What unsettles him, nearly undoes his resolve entirely, is how Henry _clings_ in a way he hasn’t in a long time now. Made worse by the missing barrier of his scarf allowing Henry’s chin to hook over the back of his neck, Ryeowook can feel that hypnotizing force wrap its tendrils around his mind, dulling his judgment, brushing away the sense of self-preservation he’s struggled to hold onto from the moment he stepped foot inside this apartment.

It’s harder than ever to wrench himself away.

Henry looks sheepish. He reaches past Ryeowook to pick up and hand him his scarf, muttering a, “Thanks for coming over. See ya.” Their eyes meet once before his dart away again.

Neither of them are sure what exactly is happening, it seems. Ryeowook’s less sure than ever.

Then Zhou Mi claps Ryeowook’s shoulder, takes the scarf out of his unmoving hands and puts it on for him, gives him a quick hug as he admonishes him in a friendly way to- something that gets lost as if underwater. Still, it’s enough to shake Ryeowook out of his stupor.

He makes himself smile and turn around with a wave behind him. “Bye! See you in a few days!” With that, he forces himself back out into the autumn chill, a terrible sense of repeat falling over him as the door closes itself behind him.


	5. 2011

_2011_

Much to his chagrin, Henry has somehow gotten _cuter_ having grown into his confidence. No, that’s not quite the right word. _Okay, fine, **more attractive.** _ He quietly huffs with frustration at his own thoughts and pushes his bangs out of his eyes.

These interviews are so boring. Just say the same thing six or ten times to different hosts. He’s already planning trips out and studying, to try and learn some different things to say, and maybe understand better, too.

And that’s how he ends up with Henry throwing himself down on the couch next to him, jostling the notebook he has in hand. The last letter he wrote now has a sharp ramp upward and to the right. He scratches out the tail and looks back up to the TV.

“What’re you doing?” Henry says, bumping their shoulders together.

“Studying,” Ryeowook answers as neutrally as he can. “I don’t want to be boring on that radio show. After this,” he gestures to the screen using his chin, “I’m going to work on my diary.”

Beside him, Henry lets out a long breath. “I should study too... _Mama_ said so, remember?” He says with a laugh, jumping to his feet. “I’ll go grab my notebook.”

The gentle jab goes unnoticed until he’s left the room. Despite concentrating that hard, Ryeowook only gets one more phrase written down, frowning down at the page because he’s not sure he caught the last syllable right. He squints at the TV. Not sure why; it’s not as if it’ll help him hear better.

Henry comes back just then, setting down two bottles of green tea before rattling the couch just as hard as the first time he sat down. He gets a light kick for that, at which he only grins, before Ryeowook tugs on his sleeve.

“Did I hear this right?” He asked, pointing at the phrase and then grabbing the bottle closest to him.

“It’s a little different. The last part…”

*

Ryeowook had been back for maybe ten minutes, a slice of banana in his mouth, when he heard the door open and close, immediately followed by Henry asking in a pained voice where the bandages are, a loud clatter, and the sound of plastic wheels rolling aimlessly.

He puts down his workbook and turns around. In order, he sees Henry’s wincing face, the patch of dirt on his forearm, a thin trickle of blood sliding out past the leg of his shorts, and a red patch on the fabric itself. He’ll admit it: he freaks out a bit.

“Take off your shorts” is what comes out of his mouth, said in no uncertain terms. Henry’s eyes widen. Realizing how that must’ve sounded, Ryeowook feels his face heat up, but still manages to explain in a steady voice, “They have blood on them. I need to wash them before it stains permanently. I’ll get you bandages too.”

Though the other man still looks weirded out, he dutifully takes off his shorts and sits down on the closest chair.

“No, come on,” Ryeowook says, and leads him by his arm towards the restroom, grabbing the shorts along the way. He turns them inside out and runs them under cold water for a bit, then leaves it running to get as much as possible out before he needs to soap it. After that, he takes out the rubbing alcohol, ointment, and gauze, silently thanking whoever restocked all this.

Henry hops up onto the counter of his own volition. A couple of bottles fall over.

Uncaring of that or anything else, Ryeowook delicately cleans the scrape with water and a bit of soap, making sure there’s no dirt or rocks left in it after he wipes it off with a wet towel, then does the same for the cut. It's long, but shallow; it looked worse at first glance. Because of the blood. Right, **not** freaking out about that.

Henry winces, but says, “It’s okay, it’s just, um,” and then something that’s probably English that sounds sort of like ‘radish’, maybe. Ryeowook ignores that, warns him with a frown that this'll hurt, then wipes the scrape with alcohol without waiting for a reply.

He glances up. It’s hard to look at Henry wincing through it, even though he’s not making any pained noises, so he stops.

After that’s done, he puts a fresh dab of alcohol on the paper he’s using. The cut is bleeding again, so he wipes that off as well. He puts the ointment on both next, then wraps only the scrape in gauze and ties it. it’s not the nicest-looking knot, but it should hold.

Then one thread of his iron control snaps. He places a kiss on Henry's knee, a bit below the scrape.

Henry looked perplexed.

“Bwahahahaha!” It's so glaringly not what he wanted to do that Ryeowook bursts into disbelieving laughter at himself.

Henry frowns at him with what might be disapproval, looking a touch red. “Hyung…”

The disbelief wasn’t fake, and what Ryeowook says to try to cover for himself is at least something in the same city as the truth. "What was that?! It’s like you’re actually my kid!" Standing up straight, he ruffles Henry's hair, refusing to meet his eyes a second time.

Instead, he starts rubbing soap on the stain, furiously scrubbing it in hopes of calming down. "I know! Let's go get ice cream!" He says with forced cheer, refusing to acknowledge any of this. “Actually, Zhou Mi brought up the idea earlier. And- I mean- I can pick up- some things to make dinner on the way back, and that one cake I saw at the market, the little pretty one I’ve been wanting to try making.” He’s babbling, trying desperately to mentally wipe away his misstep. The stain appears to have come out. _Good, it was still fresh,_ he thinks a little hysterically.

After hastily drying his hands, he goes right to Zhou Mi's room. He knocks twice, then opens the door without waiting for answer. “You said we should go for ice cream, so let’s go!”

Zhou Mi slowly sits up on his bed. He tugs out his remaining earbud, looking wary through his smile, but not quite at him. Ryeowook turns around to see that Henry has a different pair of shorts on and is still looking kind of red in the face, as well as evasive, shifting around, rocking on his heels. He turns back to Zhou Mi, shakes his head, and motions towards the front door. He’ll deal with the older man’s answering _we’ll talk later_ look, well, later.

Luckily, Henry seems just as determined to put aside the awkwardness of the earlier moment. Though he does give Ryeowook the occasional inscrutable look, he quickly hides it when caught. Other than that oddity, the chatter flows easily between the three of them, granting them all a welcome reprieve from the often-grueling pace they’ve been made to keep while they’re here.

Still. Ryeowook’s not looking forward to fessing up to this one later. In all honesty, he doesn’t want to offer up any more ammunition to the argument that what he’s doing is bad for him, clinging to something that isn’t going to happen; he already knows all too well.

*

What he's feeling is no ordinary worry. Oh no, this was icicles down your spine, wear a hole in the floor, can't close your eyes worry. This was out of control, out of your mind worry. And it didn't bode well for him.

If someone could read his mind - thank god that couldn't happen - they might say that he has a habit of worrying about Henry. And they might be right.

Forcing himself to sit down again, he went over everything one more time, not that it had helped the first however many times. Henry had left hurriedly earlier in the evening, sullen and looking downtrodden, rebuffing all offers of company. He’d been out the door before Ryeowook could get hardly more than a glimpse of his face and the set of his shoulders, having picked up on his voice in the chaotic tangle of conversations but not what he said.

There’d been no time to dwell on it then with Sungmin’s arm over his shoulders jostling him the slightest bit, gently cajoling him to go out for dinner and drinks with everyone else. While there were certainly things Sungmin could tempt him into, his growing sense of unease meant this wasn’t one of them; he’d begged off going, saying he needed rest and some extra study time.

By the time his answer had been accepted with a final squeeze and wishes to rest well, Henry had been gone for a while. Thus, Ryeowook had ignored the fear already settling into the pit of his stomach.

The man was capable of handling himself here, of course - far more than Ryeowook, to be sure. If only that stopped him from worrying. He’s sure Henry should’ve been back two hours ago at this point, whatever the younger man was doing; he’s not answering his phone or replying to his messages, hell, not even _looking_ at them. The rest of the group and staff will probably be back within the hour. If Henry hasn’t returned by then… It wouldn’t look good.

It’s not looking good _now._

Where _is_ he?! They have filming tomorrow, they’re not supposed be out by themselves past a certain hour, and Ryeowook has **no clue** where he is. Is he okay? What if he got hurt?! Or lost, or something worse- _No_ , he can’t let himself think about any of that, he digs his nails into his arm to ward off the thoughts.

One unsatisfying nap was all he’d managed. He can’t focus on his studies at _all_. It was a good excuse to stay in, having the side benefit of being true, but he’s read the same sentence at least five times now and can’t remember a word of it. He keeps looking between the clock on the wall, the one on the microwave, his phone, and only occasionally at the workbook laid flat on the table. Which he hasn’t filled in more than two lines in because he’s frantic with dread in a way he’s not sure he’s _ever_ been.

He spends so long staring at the door that it startles him when it opens.

Relief is what he feels first, a palpable thing that has him slumping over like he was being held up by wires that’ve been cut. The rest takes a little while to filter in.

Henry’s flushed red. That was the first thing that stood out. He’s also rubbing his own arm with the opposite hand, hunching in on himself like he’s cold, and there’s a bottle hanging loosely at the end of said arm. He’s glassy-eyed and visibly unsteady on his feet.

Ryeowook’s brain seamlessly switches modes at the first lurch to one side. He takes the bottle, not without encountering some mumbly grumble-whining, and sets it down on the kitchen counter. Since Henry doesn’t look like he’s going to stay upright much longer, he leads the younger man to the couch.

He’s more right than he realized. He somehow ends up with Henry’s head in his lap, though how the other man got there from sitting upright is a mystery. Pressing the back of his hand to Henry’s cheek and forehead, he can feel heat radiating off of him and frowns. The flush spreads at least as far down as his chest, visible through the collar of his t-shirt. And if the bottle hadn’t given him away, the smell sure would have.

Henry’s eyes open and focus on him. “Hi,” he says with a goofy smile.

“You’re hot,” Ryeowook says, his mouth pursed with concern. _How much did he drink?_ He thinks but doesn’t ask. Henry giggles.

“Thanks, I like you too.”

“No, I mean you have a fever.” He can already tell this is going to try his patience.

“Mmno. Nooooo. Alcohol.” Henry’s head lolls from side to side. “It’s fine. S’fine. Alcohol. N- no- not sick. Comfy here.” He scratches his thigh, then his chest; he doesn’t seem aware of much of _anything._

“You were gone for a while,” Ryeowook tries again, not that he’s at all sure he’ll get anywhere. On balance, he’s still far more worried than annoyed; this isn’t typical for Henry at all. Not the moodiness, or not answering his phone, or especially not getting plastered like this.

“Awww, you care ‘bout me. You, you take such goo- care of me. It’s so nice. You’re so niiiice.” His smile is sloppy, he mixes formality levels the longer he talks, and then his face is somehow pressing into Ryeowook’s midriff.

Sucking in an involuntary breath, Ryeowook stiffens. That’s… not a thing he can handle.

Luckily, Henry rolls away, but then he’s looking up at Ryeowook with the saddest eyes. “Wha’sit? I do something wrong?” The man genuinely looks like he’s about to cry, so Ryeowook hurries to reassure him.

“Nono! No, it’s fine, that just tickles, so don’t do that.”

“Mrms’rry. You smell good though.”

Now Ryeowook’s even _more_ flustered and isn’t sure what to do. Henry answers that for him by actually _trying_ to tickle him. He’s uncoordinated, though, so it doesn’t take much effort to get a hold of his hands and wrangle him away. “Hey, stop that, would you?” Henry makes an odd-looking open-mouthed smirk and laughs and tries one more time. “Don’t make me sit on you!”

“Heeey, come on, why do you hate me?” Maybe his drunken state has rendered him unable to discern their usual kind of joking, because he doesn’t sound like _he’s_ entirely joking. And then he doesn’t sound like he’s joking at _all_. “Why does everyone hate me?”

“Come on, that’s not true,” Ryeowook says, stroking Henry’s hair in hopes of both calming and distracting him. It works for a bit; Henry weakly pushes his head into the touch and seems placated. He mumbles something - unclear what language it was in, and he doesn’t seem bothered that he doesn’t get any response. But soon, his expression falls.

Then he starts crying.

A second ago, things seemed under control. Now, all of a sudden, there’re tears falling out of the corners of his eyes, his red face is contorted in sorrow, and he’s got a death grip on the bottom of Ryeowook’s shirt.

"Hyuuuuung am I clingy? I'm not clingy, right?” Henry bites the corner of his lip as he talks. It was… far too enticing of a sight given the situation. “I’m trying so hard not to be clingy be-because being clingy is annoying and I don't, I don’t wanna be annoying!” He then mumbles something else while Ryeowook’s still processing the unexpected turn this conversation has taken.

"Wait, what? What?! No!” Stroking Henry’s hair again gets him a shaky sniffle and a shakier exhale, but at least the man looks like he’s mentally here. “Who told you that??" Ryeowook says, equal parts indignant and bewildered.

Looking firmly in the other direction, Henry mumbles yet again. Ryeowook tries not to sigh.

“Speak up, you’re mumbling.”

"I **said** , my ex-“ The rest is unintelligible. His stomach sinking, Ryeowook gets the picture nonetheless. And then he’s _furious._

“How _dare_ she! You know what, I bet she was just projecting her _own_ fear of being clingy on to you so she could displace the blame!" He huffs. What a shitty thing to do!

"Hyung-"

"You have nothing to worry about, Henry. You're _not_ clingy. That girl was wrong to say that kind of thing to you. So wrong!" This is exactly the kind of bullshit that gets his blood boiling, making someone feel like crap for no good reason. As if breakups aren’t hard enough!

" _Hyung_ -"

"She doesn't know what she's missing out on-"

"HYUNGI'MGAY!"

Mid-rant, Ryeowook’s hand pauses on the top of Henry’s head. He looks down to see the other man with his eyes squeezed shut. His head falls sharply to the side as though heavy with the gravity of what he’s revealed. Ryeowook can starkly feel its weight on his lower thigh. “…What?”

His heart hammered in his chest, but he willed it away. The stretched-out moment that felt like forever was only a second or two that his hand stuttered before returning to smoothing back Henry’s bangs. He kept an even rhythm that didn’t falter again.

“…My ex was a boy.” Henry never looked so small as he did right now. “I mean, um, they all were, after... yeah. Y'know. But, yeah. It, uh, it was a guy who called me clingy. When he- When he broke up with me.” The poor thing is lapsing into English here and there, he’s so nervous.

Ryeowook’s heart aches for him.

So he’d heard right. The picture becomes clearer in his mind as he speaks, fueling his protective rage. What kind of bastard could say such a terrible thing to his sweet Henry? "Well then, _he_ doesn't know what he's missing out on- and-“ His left hand clenches into a fist. No, he knows exactly the type. “Ooh, this is even better, if I ever meet him, I don't have to feel bad about decking him for hurting you!"

Henry bursts into laughter - loud, unfettered, wet-sounding laughter that edges towards a sob a couple of times without quite getting there. Ryeowook's still mad at the asshole who brought this on, but when Henry's laughter peters out with a big sniff, he looks unsure and touched and worried, which instantly takes up all his focus.

Painfully wide-eyed and radiating insecurity, Henry at last opens his eyes to look up at him when he asks, “This isn’t a joke, right? You really don’t hate me?”

Not realizing that he’d stopped, Ryeowook goes back to stroking his hair and says, "Of course I don't hate you, Henry. I could never hate you, especially not for something as silly as who you love." He has a strong urge to kiss Henry’s forehead. That would **not** come off right, he's sure of that, so he refrains extra hard.

All of a sudden, Henry’s face is pressed into his middle again, but this time, it’s because the younger man is sobbing, wailing what sounds like thank you, over and over again. Ryeowook just keeps stroking his hair until he calms down. That he’s so drunk that he’s lost all ability to bottle up _anything_ speaks to how much those hurtful words affected him.

How long had he been suffering, keeping that inside?

At length, Henry pulls back, his face damp, the whole of him looking profoundly tired. "Hyung. Hyung, it's really difficult."

“I understand.” That’s all he says; it’ll have to do. There’ll be a better time to explain just how much he understands. _This isn’t about me right now. It’s about him. He needs me to listen, not make things more complicated._

But Henry doesn’t say anything more. He stays on his side, his head pillowed by the middle of Ryeowook’s thigh, resting in intimate silence. His arm shaking, he grasps Ryeowook’s hand, steadying the longer they remained clasped together.

As much as he'd like to stay here, just like this, Ryeowook looks at the clock and immediately becomes alarmed at the prospect of anyone else seeing Henry in this state.

Getting the other man to stand up is the most difficult part; getting him to place his arm over Ryeowook's shoulders to lean on to steady himself is a breeze by comparison. But once he’s down, on his bed, he’s down for the count.

“You should really change out of your clothes before you fall asleep.”

“In just a minute,” Henry mutters, making no move to avoid falling asleep. Ryeowook sighs and shakes his head. He picks a soft shirt that he’s seen Henry wear at night out of the dresser drawer and puts it under his pillow.

“It’s behind your pillow if you change your mind.”

“Mm. Thanks for not leaving,” Henry says before yawning.

The words squeeze Ryeowook’s heart like a vise. Tears well up at the corners of his eyes; how much pain must Henry have gone through to say such a thing? Words escape him, so he smoothes down Henry’s hair one last time. “Good night.”

Henry murmurs something indistinct that sounds affectionate and then promptly falls asleep.

Overtaken by that nameless force once more, Ryeowook looks on for a minute, relieved to see the man at peace. It’s not until he’s torn himself away and is setting a bottle of water down next to Henry’s bed that the enormity of the tectonic shift hits him. He proceeds to promptly freak out, though he’s not so out of control that he forgets to very slowly close the door behind him as he heads back into the kitchen.

Now that Henry’s taken care of, Ryeowook can lose his mind to his heart’s content.

He made himself a cup of tea. That’s the logical conclusion, though as far as his memory’s concerned, it materialized all by itself. He doesn’t drink it, because that would make sense, and require him to have any brain cells left to devote to anything other than the million thoughts that the last couple of hours have spawned racing through his mind.

The most obnoxious among them yelling, _I might have a chance! A real chance! I can’t believe this!_

A small part of him still wishes he didn’t care about that. Or want it. But he can’t get it out of his head. Out of the blue, he’s been left reeling.

With all this new information at hand, he could no longer hide from the knowledge that the very thing that scared him the most was what was missing from his brief relationships with the quite nice and, yes, admittedly cute handful of men he’d tried to date.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt any of them. But this was worse than not going away.

He looks towards the sole closed door, sorrow and longing washing over him. _I wanna take care of you. I wanna protect you. No one else makes me_ want _these things so badly._

Curling his hands around his barely-warm mug brings him no solace; that was a hard thing even to think in the privacy of his mind.

The worst part is that it’s true.

He hears the others returning, a mass of words and shouts and laughter, and bolts to his room in a panic. He locks his door, not wanting them to see him like this, or ask anything about his evening. Especially not about Henry. Not his whereabouts or activities or when he returned. Can’t upset anyone with answers they think he’s too asleep to give.

The sound outside soon dispersed, calming his fear. He lies safe in his temporary room, behind a locked door, under a blanket and a sheet, covered in a shield of darkness, no one intruding on him. His insides unclenching, he finally feels free to take a full, long breath. He can think again.

He takes stock of himself. Of his worry, blown far out of proportion. Of his elation at the thought that his feelings might not be hopeless. And of the fact that it'd been years now, and said feelings only seemed to grow stronger no matter his efforts to get rid of them.

It’s clear now that none of the things he’s been telling himself have amounted to anything in his heart when it’s beating wildly in his chest, fear replaced with reckless hope etched into its surface. Not the perils of rejection, nor the pitfalls should it end, not even the difficulties of discretion - none of it was enough to deter him any longer.

He presses his palms over his eyes. Some part of him he didn’t know he possessed keeps urging him on to courage, to take the chance that’s in sight, however slim it may be. He thinks instead of all he can gain, all he can do, and the enormity of all he can give if given the chance makes him _want_ so badly that he’s beside himself with yearning for that vision of the future.

One by one, the pillars of denial fall away, forcing him to see clearly. He at last admits to himself the conclusion he’s been avoiding.

_This isn’t a crush. I think I’m in love with him._


	6. side B

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Even if I had encountered difficulties, but now when I look back at those times, Ryeowook-hyung’s warm face would always appear in my memories.”

side B: as long as you're here with me

With a little over a week left, Henry's finally figured out what's been bothering him about Taiwan this time around. It's the thought of leaving that he can't bear all of a sudden, and the reason is right under his nose. More specifically, sitting across the table with bed-tousled hair, glaring blearily down at a mug of coffee, pushing his bangs out of his eyes again and again despite its futility because his face is nearly parallel with the table. This moment means absolutely nothing, an identical morning among weeks of them, but Henry never wants it to end.

His reason's high voice is still hoarse with sleep, nothing like the clear, heart-wrenching tones that captivate so many, but the mumbled words are laced with all his usual affection. It never hurt this much before.

He doesn’t think it’ll hurt any less ever again.

That’s pretty shitty of him, though, right? After everything? Isn’t this twisting it? He squeezes his own leg, digging his fingertips in to steady him. But… It’s just… If anything, Ryeowook’s become _more_ affectionate since that night.

It’s like, _Why was I so worried about telling him?_ But that answer comes quickly. He can admit to himself, at least, that he didn't wanna lose what special treatment he got - Ryeowook reaches out to him not only on his birthday but every holiday, too, taking him out to eat as close to the day as he can manage and snapping a thousand pictures as they’re squeezed close together, and sometimes it’s a nice bonus, and other times, it’s a lifeline. Henry didn’t wanna be left without his care, didn't want distance to form between them, and he couldn't put it into words then, but he can now, in hindsight, when his fears failed to become reality.

He swirls his cereal around in his bowl, watching the bits float around. Though his face is flushing just having such thoughts right across the table, he can’t seem to stop them from coming.

Looking back on it, it’s not like it made sense to have been been so hesitant to tell him, though, or so scared of it. He'd seen for himself how well Ryeowook treated the other members who liked men. He just… had been too scared to chime in that he was one of them.

There was a lot to be scared of, too. And how well Ryeowook had taken care of him in the past made that small chance seem huge and devastating, the fear of losing it all growing monstrously large. That they would grow apart, be cordial but no longer tease or touch, become mere coworkers instead of friends.

Of course it seemed ridiculous now, with the benefit of hindsight. It’s easy to feel silly about it _now._ At the time, the fear had been all too real, and combined with his newfound vigilance about being clingy, and the abrupt less-than-friendly breakup that had left him wary... The effect was devastating, and drinking, much as he didn't like it, had been the only thing he could think of to get away from it all for a little while when it became too much to handle.

So here he is, letting half a bowl of cereal get disgustingly soggy just so it looks like he’s still supposed to be here at the table. A decoy to steal these last few moments alone. It’s the only place he wants to be for as long as possible, because he knows it’s maybe a few more minutes and then it’s van naps and having to be cheerful and bouncing off the walls and he doesn’t want it all to start just yet.

He risks some quick eye contact. Fails to get it. His chest does something funny anyway. But the more he thinks about the whole thing, the worse he feels. His face falls. His shoulders slump.

He’d personally been witness to Ryeowook doting on at least half a dozen people the same way, is the thing. Hell, the man made sure the  _stylists_  ate! Henry had gotten support, and comfort, and teasing, but nothing out of the ordinary, really. As nice as the other man has been, there’s never been anything that struck him as so much as hinting at romantic feelings. More than anything, it was emotionally difficult to be on the receiving end of such good treatment from him, the most recent of which must've been what tipped his feelings over the edge like this, while knowing, logically, going by all the available evidence, that it wasn't due to them having a special connection. Not the kind he wanted.

Argh. What makes all this worse is that Ryeowook’s seriously been so _nice_. Like super extra nice.

Everything from making him hangover soup the morning after he got wasted and spilled his guts out - thankfully not literally - to checking in with him after every round of those "ideal girlfriend" type of questions, badgering him about what was _really_ his type and offering to help him get the number of that cute barista or whichever guy he'd seen recently (his taste was pretty good, all things considered, but Henry always turned him down and teased him back that he missed his calling in life to be a matchmaker), or, just, the _touching_.

As if to overcompensate, though it didn't come off that way at _all_ , weirdly enough, Ryeowook had toned down the touching in public and ramped it _way_ up in private. It felt affectionate and good and Henry liked it too much to be healthy. The other man seemed undeterred by his sometimes-awkwardness in the face of it, much like years before, which is good ‘cause it would suck to give the impression that he doesn’t like it when it’s not like that at all, just pretty confusing, but also bad because it's giving him ideas about what's happening, which is bad because that's _not_ happening.

Turns out he’d left his free hand on the table, and Ryeowook’s was now resting on top of it. _That._ Exactly that. Fuuuuuck. He swirls his cereal around some more and tries not to explode. It’s a gross mess of soggy clumps at this point; he smushes those down so that it’s not so obvious.

Focusing on that helps with the not exploding.

 _This must be how he makes sure things don’t get awkward between us,_ Henry had to conclude, not without some fond bemusement. _It’s just his own way of expressing it. He doesn’t wanna say that he feels bad for me._

What’s keeping him grounded is the fact that he’d been around long enough to know that none of the things Ryeowook did with him, not the touching nor the doting nor anything else, was unique to him. Which doesn’t say anything good about his romantic prospects. Of which there are none. (It’d be nice if it was that simple to stop looking for hope.)

But yeah, they're leaving Taiwan in like a week and then it'll go back to how it was, messages every two days to a week and mostly seeing each other for work, the new normal of the last year or so. Going from living together to practically acquaintances had left a deep ache in him; he hadn't realized the depth of it until they came here and were around each other all the time again. It felt so _good_ where the aftermath of his last breakup felt so awful.

At the same time, no matter how many times he told himself that the delays were due to ordinary things like being busy, the little demon inside his brain taunted him that this was proof he was clingy, look, even the most caring man in your life doesn't wanna deal with you. He'd half started to believe it until his birthday. That day had been a welcome reprieve from the nagging fear.

But it built up again, dipping at Christmas before growing sharply from the gaps in their messages and, once they were here, Ryeowook's trips out with only the staff, and Henry felt awful for what felt like trying to cling to something that wasn't there anymore, and it’d be shitty to whine about it to the very person who was having such a good time (which he deserved to have!) and shittier to whine behind his back (who would understand anyway?), and it just got to be too much. He wanted to not feel horrible about himself.

He obviously overdid it, but it ended well. Sort of. They'd regained their closeness, which was great, only for him to find out like this, in this ordinary moment, that he wanted so much more.

And didn't that make him feel like an asshole. What gave him the right?

But he can’t help what he feels. He doesn’t want them to be reduced to what’s coming next, a short, almost rote goodbye hug at the airport, and going so long between talking that even the voice in his head screaming that he's being clingy shuts up when he reaches out, a few empty words at practice and after concerts and the occasional group dinner. Irrationally feeling unwanted and ignored. He blinks back the faintest threat of tears.

He can feel the future distance stretching out between them and it hurts already.

Shit, he hopes no one saw that. He needs to get a grip.

Ryeowook pats his hand and turns to the side to yell to someone (or more than one someone) to hurry up. His profile makes a striking picture. Despite his harsh tone, he smiles softly, and it’s _breathtaking_. The perfect curve of his nose, his sharp jawline, his collarbones showing stark and tempting to trace a path along their edges and up the smooth length of his neck-

Just like that, Henry racks his brain for something to say to get his attention back before realizing what he’s doing.

What does it matter, though? What’s there to say anyway? He swallows and kicks the table leg. Better to hide his desperation and all this sad stuff so that he doesn't risk getting even less.

As though reading his deepest hidden wishes, Ryeowook turns back to smile at him again with sleepy eyes, his elegant fingers brushing his bangs aside in slow motion. Henry smiles back, his expression softening involuntarily. And that's when he knows for sure.

_I. Am so. **Fucked.**_

*

The place tended to clear out on the weekends. Today, Mi wasn’t due back until evening, Jungmo was out with Heechul, meaning his return would be a mystery, and though Henry was distracted watching Ryeowook’s hands kneading dough, his palms and long, long fingers crossed over each other as he pushed and twisted it, he was pretty sure Jay had said _something_ about where he’d be. Filming, maybe?

Oh well, he’d find out soon enough.

When he asked why Ryeowook would want to cook here instead of the bigger kitchen he had at home, the man merely said, “Ah, it’s too noisy! I like it better here,” then went back to mixing with a half-smile. Something fluttered between Henry’s ribs as he watched from his chair at the little table they had. There was a contentment in Ryeowook’s features that warmed him, even more than the prospect of fresh-baked bread. (No argument could be made against the goodness of fresh-baked bread. None.)

Henry suspected that Ryeowook knew this wasn’t quite necessary, and a bit odd. Still, the other man had brought ingredients enough to feed everyone twice over, by the looks of it, so who was he to complain? That’s free leftovers right there.

This wasn’t the first time Ryeowook had come over despite his busy schedule. The last couple of times, starting startlingly, happily soon after leaving Taiwan, he’d brought over some takeout or thrown together a simple lunch out of whatever was in the fridge while he and Mi traded gossip (and still the occasional unsettling whisper-and-eye-communication conversations which were clearly none of his business so he shouldn’t be worrying about it even though he kinda does). On those days, for the couple of hours it lasted, the happy chatter and laughter was so pleasant that thoughts of working left Henry’s head, not to mention Ryeowook squeezed in tight next to him, touching right above his elbow to get his attention, or resting a hand right next to his neck while telling stories or trading tips… led his mind into dangerous territory at times.

But above all, that his agonizing whether two days was long enough to send another message or if waiting three or four days was what it took to avoid crossing over the invisible line to clingy amounted to nothing, that was the biggest relief. The months that he’d spent constantly worrying about things just like that were stressful, and awful, and lonely.

Before he knew it, the bread was in the oven, and it was only them, enveloped in heat and silence.

Left alone, the touches seemed to grow bolder. What had before been brushes so light they could almost be accidental, now turned to a steadier grip – his shoulder, his waist, his hip. The kind of things usually confined to having an audience.

And there was a certain edge to Ryeowook’s gaze and the quirk of his mouth, something at once sharp and playful, something that mixed with the tone of his voice that led to only one conclusion.

He was flirting.

The question is, _why?_ Was it just because he knew he could? Testing the boundaries? It didn’t make sense, but neither did the concept of him genuinely being interested. He hasn't shown romantic interest in anyone the whole time they’ve known each other. And he’s Catholic, right? Pretty sure? And he's mentioned a high school girlfriend, which might not mean anything. But it also might not _not_ mean anything. Henry's confusing himself.

He thinks this is why he sticks with the foreign circles around here, where things are clearer. Even if Ryeowook _is_ interested, what is it he’d be interested in, exactly?

No, flirting with intent seems unlikely. There’re way better odds that it’s meant to be harmless and fun, knowing it wouldn’t be taken badly. Henry had seen this before, after all, just rarely directed at him. It probably doesn’t mean anything, just a pastime that comes with a nice self-esteem boost. (It’s not too bad to enjoy it while it lasts, right?)

And yet, he’d never been less sure. Of anything.

After carefully arranging everything he plans to use later, Ryeowook declares that he’s taking a break, settling down on the couch to watch something. Though Henry recognizes one or two of the artists sitting on the floor on screen, he’s preoccupied by Ryeowook playing with his hand. Is playing the right word? It’s hard to tell. Their fingertips brushing together is setting him on fire.

It’s here, in his living room, with nothing to perform and no one to perform for, that he’s left with nothing to distract him from this reality. He keenly feels every slightest touch and barest movement.

This isn’t normal. He could swear he used to be able to be touched by the man beside him without wanting more- okay, so he had his moments when he wanted more, but he didn't _crave_ it like this, or want touch far beyond the intimacy he's afforded. Or could be afforded. He's sure that his desire used to be warm, not this burning that’s driving him out of his mind.

Now, he can’t concentrate on a single word he’s hearing. Ryeowook’s finger is tracing a curve over the back of his hand; Henry is vibrating out of his skin.

The kitchen timer goes off.

“Ah, I need to check on the bread,” Ryeowook says in a bewilderingly calm voice, getting up and humming to himself as though he hadn’t been doing anything out of the ordinary. Maybe he thought he wasn’t. _Is_ he just being affectionate after all? _You’d think I’d get the hang of this whole thing after a few years…_ Henry hears him tsk, then the low crinkle of aluminum foil.

“I’ll start dinner after it’s done,” Ryeowook calls back from the kitchen.

“Thank you! It smells really good!” Henry’s relieved that he managed to _sound_ normal, at least. And the smell of the bread that wafted out really was good, making him hungry and, at last, distracting him from his dilemma.

That only lasted until the couch dipped next to him. Ryeowook smiles at him with innocent affection and pats his hand. “It should only be another fifteen minutes.” His smile widens, teeth showing briefly, before he faces towards the TV again. He takes Henry’s hand into his own and lays his head on Henry’s shoulder, swinging his feet with dull thumps of his heels hitting the couch like this is just what he does all the time.

Henry’s spiking heartrate knows better. He wants whatever this is to stop right now and also never, but also right now to stop messing with the feelings he shouldn’t have and can’t seem to shake.

There isn’t a single part of him that’s listening, though, nor an inch of him that’s willing to move away.

Over the blather of a car commercial, Ryeowook exclaims as he pulls back, “Oh dear, you’re so red!” He frowns. “Are you getting sick?” He reaches up and presses the back of his hand to Henry’s forehead.

 _Ohmygod this is so embarrassing._ “I’m fine, just a bit hot,” Henry stammers. To prove it, he undoes the buttons of his overshirt, going so far as to fan himself with the flaps. He makes a silly, exaggerated face, rolling his eyes back and sticking his tongue out, which Ryeowook luckily laughs at.

“You’re funny. But you still might be getting sick,” he says, pursing his mouth. “I hope not. I’ll make you some tea.” He patted Henry’s knee in that absentminded way of his as he got up. Henry watches him go, unsure what to do and half-hoping one of his roommates would walk in through the door to take the focus off him, which, shockingly, didn’t happen in the exact ten-second span he wanted it to.

After taking the bread out of the oven, Ryeowook opened the small window, filled up the kettle, and found some tea in short order. Then, he opened the freezer and quickly closed it. “You’re out of ice. I’ll be back with some in a little bit.” He was out the door before Henry had gathered his wits enough to respond in any way.

Not that he knew what he would say anyway.

He closes his eyes and lets his head flop onto the back of the couch, the bread smell little comfort when what he really wants is Ryeowook back on the couch with him, but sitting on his lap this time- He groans at the thought, wondering how his life has come to this. It was worse than just losing his cool.

A kick of lust hit him out of nowhere, some delayed reaction his mind decides to torment him with, leaving him unable to think straight. It's not that he hasn't always known the man was beautiful; but the knowledge has changed into something direct, a feeling, a distraction that threatens to sweep him away.

When Ryeowook left, he looked just as impeccable as he came in. That’s another thing that’s confusing - he seriously looked like he’d gone all out for an ordinary visit. His face looked so smooth that it must’ve taken at least a half dozen shaves, flawless makeup that was nonetheless more intense than usual (which is _un_ usual for him in summer), and clothes that looked casual but still _really_ cute.

Oh. Oh no. What if he has a date after this? Oh god, is that what that whole weird coffee thing he and Mi do is about? Henry groans in frustration this time and thwacks his head against the back of the couch. Why would they talk in code about that, though? Some kind of game? Hiding their pity for him? The more he tries to figure it out, the less sense it makes.

But is there any way to ask Ryeowook when he’s leaving without making it sound like _asking_ him to leave? Or what if he’s staying late enough that someone _does_ come back? Henry doesn't want Ryeowook to leave, but he equally doesn't want him to stay here only to divide his attention... He wants all of it, greedily, selfishly, only on him. Painfully badly.

He digs his nails into his palm. Now that he so rarely has the other man all to himself like this, he wants it like he's never wanted anything before. The intensity of his desire shocks him.

What did this mean? **Could** it mean anything? If it was a passing madness, he could handle that, yet enduring it only seemed to make it stronger.

He flips to hang upside down over the edge of the couch, hoping that getting more blood to his brain will make it work again. That makes him feel funny after a little while, so he gets up, which also feels weird. Then he dances out the extra energy in the small entryway, challenging himself to keep his eyes closed for longer each time without bumping into anything.

That that happens to mean he can hear footsteps outside his door is unintended. But it means he’s not caught off guard when the door opens.

Terrified by the sudden thought that Ryeowook could think him unappreciative, Henry follows the impulse to wrap the older man up in a hug before the door’s closed itself.

Ryeowook sounds confused. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Henry mumbles without letting go. Ryeowook weakly protests that the ice is going to melt, but Henry mutters that he doesn't care and keeps hugging him.

Ryeowook pulls most of his body away, and for a terrifying moment, Henry thinks he did something wrong, he shouldn't have done this, _clingy fuck what the hell were you thinking ruining this too_ , only to realize that it was to transfer that bag to his other hand.

What brings on the heart acrobatics is that, having done that, Ryeowook is hugging back quite fiercely for only having one and a half arms to do so with, and keeps doing so longer than many (but certainly not all) of their hugs. The quietest “I missed you so much” slips out of Henry's mouth in English without his permission.

It's another couple of seconds before Ryeowook answers, “Mm, what did you say?”

That’s when Henry snaps out of his daze, realizing that he doesn’t know why he said that and he's more confused than ever about what he's doing or what he thinks is happening, and how this'll only make it more difficult for him when Ryeowook leaves, so he says, embarrassingly loudly, “I said, I'll help you with those!” He proceeds to easily grab both bags from a startled-looking Ryeowook's hands and quickly turns around so that he doesn’t have to see just how badly he should be embarrassed.

 _I don’t want him to leave but I don’t want to scare him away either._ At this rate, both are about to happen. Way to fuck it up.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ryeowook asks worriedly. Henry continues to refuse to look.

 _No, I’m losing my fucking mind._ “I’m fine! I promise!” He only slams his head into the ice bag once after he put it in the freezer. He pretends it's because he's too warm and not because he's making things harder for himself like the idiot he is. Or making an ass of himself. _How about I crawl into the freezer and wake up a hundred years later? That sounds great right about now._

The touch to his side makes him flinch and bump his head. “Ow!” Behind him, Ryeowook giggles.

“Sorry!”

Henry takes his head out and closes the freezer door. Ryeowook’s quite obviously doing a bad job of trying to make a sympathetic expression out of a grin and rubs his head a little. It’s not where Henry bumped it, but he’s not complaining.

Then that same touch to his side comes again, right before their bodies are pressed close together, intimately molded back to front, in the small space between the table and the counter. His thoughts run wild for the second it takes him to notice that it’s over and Ryeowook is grabbing the pot he’d set out earlier and filling it with water, hence why he needed to get past.

The combination makes Henry wonder if it’s too soon to stick his head in the freezer again. This must be what madness feels like.

Ryeowook gently thwaps Henry’s middle with the back of his hand. “Out of the way,” he says with a cheeky smile. “You want dinner, don’t you?”

Though Henry dutifully steps back, he finds that anything more than a “Yeah” is beyond him at the moment. He technically hears and responds to something about making extra for his roommates if they’re not back in time, and leftovers too, and how much nicer it really is to cook where it’s quiet and no one complains about his food while eating it anyway, but he’s not entirely present. He can’t pinpoint which particular thing is entrancing him this time, only that that’s what’s happening to him, wrapped up in a tantalizingly sweet scent of unknown origin that lingers in his senses.

It _is_ madness. Ryeowook is kind and generous, to be sure, but not in any way that’s different than what Henry has seen him give to others. So it was madness to think that there could be anything more to it. That didn't stop the hope, however.

Love had never been anything but madness, and it has him helpless in its grip.

*

Restlessness settles in his limbs the next day. Since Ryeowook’s been visiting regularly, Henry has regained some motivation to keep things passably clean. He’s been working up the courage to ask Ryeowook to spend the night; he thinks it’ll clear up a lot of things for him.

Plus, he thinks with an embarrassing blush, unhindered by the squeaky pile of takeout containers he’s trying to get his arms around to carry them off of his desk, it’s been years since they’ve shared a bed. He’s been thinking it’d be nice to make some new memories by doing so in better circumstances this time. And secrets are easier to tell whispered in the dark.

 _I hope he goes for it. I miss that. And who knows, maybe-_ “Whoafuck.”

He struggles to pick up the whole pile and not drop any while carrying them out. One did fall, actually, right outside his doorway when his heel landed funny somehow. Since it was only one, though, he thought that was pretty good.

Now that the boxes are gone, he can actually pick up the dishes that accumulated under that mess. He gets them as far as the sink, but there’re enough in there already that he leaves them and hopes someone else’ll take care of those. Then he throws away any empty bags and candy bar wrappers that were on his floor.

So he got that much done. He’ll get to the rest later.

On the outside, he looked like a productive adult. Inside, he was consumed by his thoughts. It was getting bad. He’d started having fantasies about being ordered around, too. Because, clearly, what his daydreams collaged out of memories and wishful thinking needed was company.

He goes to the bathroom sink to splash water on his sweaty face. His reflection stares back at him. He looks as stupid as he feels.

 _I mean,_ even if _he's into guys, which, I dunno, again, I've never seem him date anyone, but, like... there's no way he's into me. He thinks of me as a kid._ Some kind of nurturing instinct gone into overdrive, something like that. _And my stupid heart had to go and fall for him anyway._ He pokes at his cheeks unhappily, staring into the mirror again. They're not all big anymore, right? Doesn't matter. Hasn't changed much since a couple months ago.

 _Imagine getting the 'sorry, I don't feel that way about you' talk again. No way. Not worth it. And then things getting all awkward after that, too. That sounds_ great. _No more hugs, no more visits..._ He goes right up to the mirror, puffs up his cheeks, looks at himself for a second, sighs into it. Deflates.  _Definitely not. Not happening. Not gonna say a **word**._

Not the first time he’s made that decision. And yet, every time, his resolve would crumble when he gets a cute message from Ryeowook checking up on him, or an arm around his shoulder and a laugh at his bad joke, or, there's fluttering somewhere in his stomach at the memories, a hug. Ryeowook's hugs, the real, unhurried ones, are so nice. Long and warm, pressed chest to chest, a bit of swaying. Each one of those feels so affectionate; Henry suspects he was never quite unaffected by them.

Each time his resolve breaks, he promises himself, _Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll get over him. I'll let myself enjoy it as long as it's only for today._

Of course, that never works.

It’s like he can’t decide from day to day or sometimes hour to hour whether to feel good about all the attention and try to push forward and see if there’s something else there, or give up on the whole thing as hopeless.

Rinsing his face one more time, he wipes it off on the towel and pokes at the chunk of his hair that got wet in the process. It sticks up in a funny little spike. He makes it taller, then bends it sideways, then forward. Then towels the whole thing out.

He ends up back in his bed, filling in the unnerving silence. Or rather, he wants to, but nothing’s coming to him. He tries to hum to see if it goes anywhere; it goes flat. He opens and turns off his phone screen three times, scrolling through his contacts on the fourth time but feeling a decided _meh_ each time he thinks to do anything.

He gives in to the urge to reread Ryeowook’s messages, a fairly steady stream of chatter, advice, silly pictures, checking on him, seeing how he’s doing and asking whether he needs anything.

Henry’s torn again.

The thought of sending that invitation pulls at him once more. _Is two days enough? Three? Fuck. I don't wanna come off clingy and bother him... He does so much for me already... I'll wait until tomorrow. I'm sure he's busy anyway,_ he assures himself, seeing nothing sent today. He scrolls back up to the picture he got sent late last night of someone putting a little paper hat on a bunny and smiles to himself. It quickly turns wry.

That's who he had to go and fall for, right? His biggest supporter, the one who'd been cheering him on for years, comforting him when he's down, and only wants the best for him.

The one he can’t bear the thought of losing, most of all.

It kinda makes sense, but like, it also sucks. They were fine before, and now... who knows. Maybe if he doesn't say anything, it'll go away? Or he'll blurt it out at the worst possible time and ruin everything. Fifty-fifty odds.

He whistles just to hear something other than cars passing by outside and the low hum of the fridge. He goes to his chair, pulls his legs up to crouch on it after a couple of seconds, sings to himself, but he’s as stuck as he’s been the last couple of days. It’s so annoying when this happens!

He pokes his head out the doorway. No one comes back for him to bother. Why doesn’t that ever _work_? TV’s such a liar.

Fuck, what’s he thinking, anyway? Of course he wants to keep what he has rather than take some kind of… stupid risk for nothing, really…

Argh! None of this was a good idea. On top of that, nothing else was holding his attention, and there’s only so much time he wants to spend by himself in his bed or on his chair when he can’t get any work done anyway. And he doesn’t feel like going anywhere either, so it’s no wonder he’s coming unglued.

Which is why he’s resorting to his most hated chore: washing dishes.

The rectangular pan in the sink taunts him. He’d thought, at first, that maybe it was the bread he missed this time. Wouldn’t be too weird; it was really good. But he couldn’t bring himself to try to make any. (He thought about it. He stared at a recipe for a _really_ long time. So it’s like he almost did.) No, way before he got to that point, he couldn’t bring himself to wash that pan. It was like a reminder that Ryeowook had actually been here. That, far from thinking of him as clingy, the older man went out of his way to come see him. As if to prove it.

His shoulders slump. Oh. Maybe that’s why. That’s... exactly the kind of weird thing he might do, to be honest.

_And I’m the idiot who falls for it. Thinking there’s something more to it. But he just feels bad for me. Again._

At least he figured it out quicker this time around. The good news is that he’s got an idea to work on now. He leaves the dishes way less than half finished, rushing to get it out.

(The bad news is that what he was supposed to be doing in the first place was getting everything ready to go for his trip in a couple of weeks ‘cause the last time he put it off ‘til the last minute, he forgot a bunch of stuff and half the clothes he wanted to take weren’t washed and smelled _awful_ , and he didn’t wanna ruin his suitcase too, and he ended up having to buy a bunch of stuff after he landed and his mom scolded him and it wasn’t great.)

He’s a little too used to being hurt, but not enough to handle this. The unnameable something claws at him to get out, to become something else other than the disgust at his own uncontrollable foolishness. He stays locked up in the getting out for hours and hours until it follows him into sleep.

In the morning, he has been reset, the pain at somewhat of a remove and the longing underneath it jolting him into wakefulness.

If he decides to use it, he has a plan. A real one this time.

*

It didn’t take him long to decide. He doesn't care what it makes him, clingy or desperate or pathetic or what _ever_ , he just wants to spend some time with Ryeowook before his trip. If that's messed up, then it's messed up. He doesn't care anymore. The whole of him aches for it so badly that he can't bring himself to care about anything else, including the insults he hears echoing in in his head. It's an itch that's grown so strong that each day is tougher than the last.

So he pulls up their conversation, checking one more time that the last message was the same one he remembered. He’d left it unanswered in his haze of pain last night. But it’s okay now. He’s gonna answer it.

_Nuh-uuuuuuh! Thursday, I'm treating this tiiiime ^^ see ya soon ;)_

One day isn’t as much notice as he’d like to give, but it’ll have to do. They basically already had plans anyway, right? Right.

(Why didn’t he say tomorrow? Can’t edit it now…)

He’s not gonna worry about the future or all the other stuff. Whatever the reasons, he just wants them to spend some time together outside of work before they'll be apart for a month while he's in another country and then on another continent. Being here like the other times would only remind him of stuff he doesn’t wanna think about. _So let’s turn it around,_ he thinks, rubbing his hands together.

First, he’s going out for a jog to get all this weird nervous energy out of his system. Might as well, if he’s gotta go through the trouble of showering anyway.

Then he hits another snag. He himself is clean and dry, but not so much anything else. The single pair of underwear that’s clean is the one with the really short legs, the one set aside for pants tighter than any human being should be wearing - he knew he forgot _something_. No time for that now; the sun’s already setting, so that’ll be on Friday. So on those go, and… what else is left, nope, this whole pile smells like rotten sweat- There! A clingy pair of jeans from who knows when, but, whatever.

They’re clean, they fit, that’s all that matters. He’s about to take them off-

He peeks at his door to make sure it stays closed. _Good._ Then he twists around to look at his mirrored closet door. _Hey, my ass looks good in these_ , he thinks. Then rolls his eyes at himself. _Who do you think's gonna care about that? No one, that's who._ But he shrugs, accepts that it makes him feel more confident anyway, and proceeds with the plan.

The couple of treats were set aside already from his last plan, so finding a shirt is all that’s left for today.

He had trouble getting to sleep, so he stayed up too late working, playing around with an older piece that had inspired him again all of a sudden. The next day, it’s a little past four when he’s come back from the gym, showered, put on the magic jeans and a shirt with a collar on it (it’s not that fancy, and both remaining clean t-shirts didn’t look good enough here), and he’s off to the chicken place near the other dorms.

He doesn’t want the food to arrive before him, or for him to arrive before the food, so he’ll deal with the walk. Once he’s eyeballed how much to get, he orders twice as much as that because certain members on the other floor have a sixth sense for free food. He points at one of them and asks for two in order to set aside an extra one for Sungmin, recognizing it by sight rather than by name. He's gotten less hopeless at ordering, but not _that_ much less, and hey, pointing is universal.

Hoping that he got at least one of each flavor there, he pauses in front of the door to put that extra one on the bottom so he could hold onto it. Seriously, Sungmin would be upset if it ran out before he got any _again_ , and Henry wants this time to go flawlessly.

He lets himself in and gets set up.

As predicted, within two minutes, the table’s full of chaos, yelling and grabby hands trying to divvy it all up, though the cause was less a sixth sense and more a short message in the group chat.

With everyone distracted, he grips the box on his lap and gets up, maneuvering around and ducking a flying elbow to nudge Sungmin’s shoulder, handing over the prize with a friendly grin. (Henry had learned that Sungmin also reacted badly to friendly punching. Nowhere near as badly as Siwon, that’s for sure, but Sungmin has that way of telling you what you did wrong that makes you wanna never disappoint him like that again, so, no punching. Punch-free since 2007.) His mouth a surprised “o”, Sungmin mouths his thanks, guarding his treasure as he hunkers down at the farthest corner of the table.

That’s two successful missions now. The seed of the third and most important one sits in Henry’s pocket, waiting to be deployed. Damn, he needed theme music.

He himself gets left with the blandest one. Doesn’t bother him. At least it’s not spicy.

Kyuhyun had brought up some beer, glasses for it appeared out of nowhere, and the chaos got louder and raunchier - which hadn't seemed possible until it happened. Henry feels excited laughter bubbling up from his chest and starts looking for his spot to jump in.

So something unexpected happens while that’s going on. Ryeowook sits down next to him and gives him this look like he just pulled off a heist. And he sort of has - he’s got a box hidden on his lap that he opens so quietly that it goes unnoticed, like, Henry wouldn’t have known it was there even right next to him.

He does a good job of pretending to ignore that until something’s pushed into his hand under the table all secretive. Next to him, Ryeowook reaches into a box on the table to grab a piece of a different one for himself. Nice cover.

Very coolly and totally inconspicuous, Henry takes a bite of what he was given to find that it’s the sweet flavor that he likes. Whoa! That’s usually gone before he knows it’s there! He didn’t expect to actually get any. He feels like he’s probably blushing even though he just did the same thing for Sungmin and it obviously wasn’t like that, but it doesn’t matter, his heart’s not listening.

Under the table, he taps his fingers on Ryeowook’s knee and gets another piece. It’s sneaky and adorable and he kinda loves it.

They're having fun and laughing and making awful jokes, and whenever it goes quiet for a second, Ryeowook hands him another piece under the table. His fingers on his right hand are sticky by the end of it. As he's licking them, he notices too late that all the boxes are empty.

Donghae disappeared at the first hint that cleanup would need to be done, as usual. Then the rush to avoid having to clean up begins, soon leaving only two of them still at the table. He can't help but laugh.

On the other hand, Sungmin already wordlessly started picking up bags and stacking boxes.

Ryeowook smiles at him, sweetly and a bit wry, and says, “Thanks for dinner! I'll take care of this.”

“Are you sure?” Henry asks while Ryeowook’s already gathering up the cups scattered across the table and around the room. _Guess that answers that?_

“Go!” He says with a laugh.

Hovering near him for a little longer, Henry says in a low voice for only him to hear, “I've got something for you. I'll wait in your room.” Then he claps Sungmin’s shoulder and they trade thanks.

But, and he probably shouldn’t, but he hangs back at Ryeowook's doorway to turn around and watch for a moment. He hadn't noticed earlier, caught up in getting enough food and trying his hand at making dirty jokes too, but now, he could see that sometime during the rest of them being a couple beers in, Ryeowook had taken off his overshirt and is, for a glorious moment, in only a tight black tank top. Wow, his back _still_ looks that good. He noticed it once when they were at the gym together and Ryeowook was lifting weights, and there was just _something_. But it passed after a moment, without him getting the hint.

He's sure as hell solved the puzzle now.

Before his staring can grow obvious, he ducks into Ryeowook’s room and closes the door behind him. For that extra layer of protection. His first thought is to snoop around - he immediately rejects that because one, that is _weird_ , **no** , and two, he was in here a couple of weeks ago? And nothing’s changed? He wipes his hand over his face. _What the fuck am I doing? Cut that shit out._

The mattress creaks when he bounces on it, and he quickly looks to make sure nothing’s cracked or broken.

Of course, he’s already sitting on the older man’s bed, leaning back onto his hands behind him and swinging his legs, by the time he realizes that it might've kinda sounded like he was suggesting something entirely different and now he's _sure_ he's blushing, because he sure as hell wasn't trying to throw out a proposition. He can't ...unthink it, either, hence how relieved he is when the door opening interrupts his train of thought. That sweet scent drifts by again; he briefly regrets not lying down and seeing if he could smell it on Ryeowook's pillow. _No, that's_ creepy _, what the hell, brain._

The older man looks tired. The bags under his eyes are peeking out through his makeup, and there’s some slowness to his movements that hadn’t been apparent before. Well, he _has_ been complaining about recording and practices running late for multiple days…

That his overshirt is back on is the second thing Henry notices. He’s disappointed by that and blurts out “Aren’t you hot?” and immediately hates himself a little bit.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Ryeowook asks, again uncharacteristically slow.

Undeterred, Henry tugs his own collar between his thumb and index finger as he says, “Your shirt.” Ryeowook freezes for a second. He mumbles and tries to wave it off, but Henry’s worried now, so he says cautiously, “Is there something…?”

Something shifts. Ryeowook flattens his lips together, then purses the corner of his mouth, his strong exhale sounding part exasperated and part sad. “You’re not going to make fun of me, right?” He says quite sharply, insistently. Not really a question. Henry furiously shakes his head.

That appears to be enough. Ryeowook sits down next to him on the bed. It creaks in complaint under the force he dropped himself with. He’s got that thousand-yard stare, and Henry’s frantically trying to figure out whether it’s better to say never mind or give him the time and space to get to whatever it is.

At last, Ryeowook slips his overshirt off of one shoulder.

Looking this close is what it takes to even really see what he’s worried about. Mostly on his upper back, with a few on his shoulder, are faint white scars, not deep, the slightest bit jagged. Most stretch horizontally, with a few of them veering off diagonally.

As soon as Henry runs his fingertips over them, he wonders if he’s made a mistake. He tenses. On edge for a couple of seconds, nothing goes wrong, no complaint or scolding comes. He traces the curving indents that wrote themselves into the other man’s skin. Pulls his hand back. And says the least-stupid-sounding thing he’s been able to come up with in such a short span of time. “I think they’re kind of cool.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah! Scars are cool! Very manly. And,” he’s gonna say it, isn’t he, ‘cause he’s an idiot, yep, alright, here goes nothing, “they don’t make you any less pretty.” He tries to make it sound at once joking enough to be brushed off and also sincere enough to show that he means it.

Ryeowook snorts and weakly pushes at his arm. The tops of his ears are pink, so Henry counts it as a win, even though the other man still puts his overshirt back on after that, unable to meet his eyes. _He’s being shy! Damn that’s so cute._

Right. Given a clear sign that the time to talk about that is over, Henry goes back to his original plan.

Clearing his throat, he says, “I got you a present.” He tries to be smooth about it, but knows he probably sounds more like a grade-schooler. Whatever, he’s excited! He bounces back a few inches towards the window, then pulls the packet of dried mango out of his pocket and pushes it across the newly-formed space between them.

Buying them hadn't been so bad. Now, though, facing Ryeowook on his bed while they're alone in his room, Henry feels really embarrassed to have done all this, and especially to have remembered that the older man likes mango. Though he’s not sure why. Why it embarrasses him, that is. It’s not like it’s _weird._ Right? Maybe?

Logically, there was nothing embarrassing about that, except for ruining his plausible deniability, so he does what always gets him through embarrassment - plows ahead despite it.

"I know I gave you your birthday present already, but, it's for you," he says needlessly. Ryeowook gifts him with a soft, shy smile and thanks in return.

While he’s distracted eating those, Henry takes out the two chocolate bars from his back pocket. Those both snapped in half. He realizes belatedly that he must've sat on them. Oops. Whatever, they're fine to eat. Ryeowook’s got a slice half hanging out of his mouth that muffles his question.

Henry beams. “Your other present!”

The other man finishes chewing, then presses his lips together and visibly hesitates, his shoulders leaning this way and that as he makes considering noises. “Ah, I don’t know…”

“I know, but, just one piece is okay, right?” He asks plaintively.

In response, Ryeowook smiles all big and toothy and his eyes sparkle and he _giggles_ , which is why Henry didn’t notice he’d broken the entire first bar into squares until he looks down at his hands and sees it already done. He picks up the choice corner piece with the smoothest edges and hands it over.

He could swear something powerful passed between them in that brief window that their fingertips brushed against each other. If he didn’t know how prone he was to wishful thinking, that is. It’s at this inopportune moment that he thinks to himself, _So which part of this is supposed to prove you’re not clingy again?_

Then Ryeowook slides the rest of the square onto his tongue and softly _moans_.

Henry whimpers under his breath. He’s _really glad_ he’s sitting down ‘cause he _felt_ his knees go weak just now. _You’re beautiful,_ he thinks helplessly, watching the man across him as his eyes close in contentment, as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

Here on the other side, Henry squirms and bites down on the inside of his cheek, unable to keep his desire at bay, fighting with the part of him that wants to be the cause of that expression more directly. _Fuck, I’d be your experiment any day_. Pride be damned, he’d take what he could get.

The rest of him knows that he should say something to get things back to normal, tease the other man about it, but it takes him far too long to do so. "They're going to think we're doing something else in here if you make sounds like that," he finally says, playful as he can get his voice. (It only creaked a little.)

"You're the one who brought me in here with the door closed," Ryeowook shoots back with a cheeky smile, grabbing another piece of dried mango. Henry can't help but laugh.

"In that case, we'll just have to deal with their dirty thoughts." He waggles his eyebrows over and over until he gets Ryeowook laughing like a hyena, hands trying but failing to cover his mouth as he throws his head back. _Now_ he's satisfied.

The way Ryeowook’s entire face lights up when he laughs is hypnotizing. It gives Henry that ridiculous feeling that goes something like _I'd do absolutely anything you asked me to_ and it scares him to feel that way about someone again but it's so _good_ , too, being giddy and laughing too easily and feeling a little desperate in this weird way that makes him feel so _alive_ at the same time.

Recrossing his legs, he grabs more chocolate for himself, terrorizing Ryeowook by lunging forward and roaring with chunks of it over his teeth and his hands in claw shapes, getting him to whine at Henry to quit it between bouts of giggling into his hands.

When they settle for a moment, Ryeowook has a certain softened look in his eyes that’s always spelled trouble. To make things worse, he smoothes down Henry’s hair with casual intimacy, and fixes his collar and tugs his sleeves back into place, too.

 _He's not interested in you, there's no way that's what's happening,_ he thinks with a mental sigh, hunching in on himself in embarrassment from unwillingly remembering the worst of his previous mistakes on that front. Including one that looked a fair amount like right now. _Wait, that might look weird outta nowhere._ He forces himself to relax his shoulders so as to not cause any worry. He’s hyper-aware of everything and doesn’t really know what to _do_ about that.

So he lunges in for tickles.

Ryeowook laughs out a “Sto-o-ooop! I just aaate!” It takes a second or two to register, though.

 _That’s… a good point, actually,_ Henry thinks but doesn’t say. But he does stop. And Ryeowook grins up at him after that, his eyes scrunched up in affection. His arms planted on either side, Henry hoards the feeling that gives him greedily, wanting to keep it with him for as long as possible.

He makes himself sit up and scoot back, allowing the other man to do the same. To put space between them.

Ryeowook swishes some water around his mouth and offers the bottle to Henry to do the same. He takes it with that strange awareness still buzzing under his skin. He gulps down half of it, then runs his tongue over his teeth to find the last bits of chocolate.

Ryeowook looks at him with this unbearable subdued sweetness and says, “You're flying out on the thirtieth, right?”

Henry's rational mind isn't fully operational and he says, “Yeah. I'll miss you lots, but it'll be great to stay with my relatives for a bit and then go home and see my family.” It's not until he's said that he realizes the first part came out of his mouth. But Ryeowook isn't commenting on it, so he'll let it slide too.

A whole month... _I hope it's enough._ He got everything set up back in January, so it's not like he's gonna change anything at this point. Still, though, what he wouldn't give to come back and find the tension he feels erased. To get back to normal. Start dating again - it's been a year now.

What he wants is to want something else. It's a feat he's never accomplished; he strongly hopes this'll be the first time. “I’m gonna buy up a bunch of the best snacks for you on my trip and bring you back a whole giant pile. How’s that sound?” He says with a cocky grin.

“Ooh, really? Then you’d better hurry back,” Ryeowook answers, his cheeks round and full with the almost-laughter of teasing.

Henry affects an indignant gasp. “I haven’t even left yet!” He shoots back, laughter threaded through his voice as well. _I’ll make sure this is the last time that I’m in love with you,_ he thinks to himself. _I’ll come back different so that you’ll never have to feel bad for me._

With that resolved, he takes one of Ryeowook’s hands into his own, smiling at him closed-mouthed, burning the rose-tinted view into his memory. _I promise I’ll never break your heart again._

*

Awash in the faintest sunlight filtered through his curtains, Henry opens his eyes and makes a startled yelp. Which he immediately regrets.

Trying to blink his eyes into staying open, he doesn’t move, conscious awareness filtering in slowly from the floating space between sleep and waking. He figures out that he’s in his bedroom, then that he’s warm, then that the weighed-down feeling that startled him is Ryeowook’s head on his chest, fingers half curled around his opposite hip.

He tries to calm his panic. What exactly happened? He can't remember anything between the studio and here. Wait, no, if he concentrates really hard, he can sorta recall Ryeowook saying something about staying here. 'Cause it was closer? That sounds right. Doesn't help any, though. There’s a big blank and then the last thing he remembers is a dream.

…Or at least, he hopes it was. Because what he dreamed about was the two of them making out, accompanied by grinding their hips together slow and firm through their clothes.

He swallows as quietly as he can.

Last night was a complete blur. He vaguely remembers waking up on the studio couch, and being too tired to even think of objecting to what the older man said, and the tug on his hand leading him out of the side room. But that was it. He couldn't remember _anything_ after that. And the last thing he wanted to do was to make things awkward between them. God, he _really_ hoped he didn't make a move, that all that was just another overly vivid dream.

But as soon as he realized it was just a dream, he got like half a second before noticing that there was something on him that didn’t feel like a blanket or anything else he recognized. Which is how he got here, where he’s about to face whatever reckoning is going to come for him.

And he really, really, _really_ hopes it was only a dream and not one of those things where you dream about what you were just doing, because that would mean not only did it happen and he doesn't remember, but also that he _fell asleep in the middle of it_. It’d be impossible to live that down. He’s getting more panicked by the moment.

So, all in all, it’s the worst possible time for Ryeowook to wake up, stirring and looking at him blearily and making a questioning noise. Which means that’s exactly what happens. “Ugh, it’s only six-thirty?” He mutters after swinging his head towards the clock. Then swings it back to face him. “What is it?” He asks a little louder.

Another terrible thought strikes. What if Ryeowook had somehow sensed the thought about being an experiment, and now it had happened while Henry couldn't remember, and it was over and he’s about to be tossed aside?!

Panic is too mild of a word to describe what he feels. He _has_ to make sure it wasn't real. "Please tell me I- we didn't do anything last night."

Before it'd been a possibility, he seriously thought he would've settled for something like that happening. Now that the possibility is staring him in the face, he’s left with a growing awareness that what he wants isn't casual in any way. The thought of them being a one and done deal while he couldn't remember anything scares him to the core. He _doesn’t want that._ If he was gonna do anything, it would've been a planned confession, something romantic and meaningful. Not some half-asleep makeouts and grinding. Not "that was fun, but let's not do it again." Or “sorry, I’m not really into guys after all.” He dreaded what the answer would be, but he had to know.

Oh god, oh fuck, Ryeowook’s too close to have this conversation. Henry’s sure the pounding of his heart is unmistakeable. He’s terrified of the answer as much as he needs it.

“We’re both fully clothed,” the other man points out. He quickly lifts up the sheet half covering them to check, blinking unhappily all the while, and _nearly giving Henry a heart attack_. More bare skin rubs along Henry’s calf as Ryeowook drops the sheet and shifts back. “Yep. I only got you to take your belt off.”

Henry thinks with a desperate sort of alarm that this doesn’t clear anything up. _Before **what**?_ Ineloquent at the best of times, he finds himself tongue-tied in the face of his dawning terror.

“But no, we didn’t do anything besides sleep together,” Ryeowook continues. _Ohgodohgodohgod it got worse._ “ _Platonically_ ,” he adds.

Upon hearing that, Henry’s panic subsides with an exhale and a full-body slump. So at least there’s that. _Thank god I didn’t make a move on him._ The downside of finding out they didn’t do anything of that sort is the sharp downward slide of his heart that reminds him that dreams are only that, and that there’s still nothing to suggest that he has any chance to be seen as anything other than a friend, and now they’re gonna get up from whatever this is and have breakfast and then go their separate ways for a long time.

Except what actually happens is Ryeowook settles back down on his chest.

Henry lays there stiffly, thinking, _Fuckfuckfuck I am not as good at handling this as I thought whaddo I **do**?_ “Um. Uh.” It takes him a couple of tries to find the words. Any words. Any at all. “What are you doing?” _Besides trying to kill me, apparently._

“Trying to go back to sleep, what’s it look like,” Ryeowook grumbles into Henry’s shirt.

“On top of me?” His voice does that creaking thing again. _One day, I_ will _learn when to shut up, I swear._ But this is definitely new, so. What is going on here?

“You’re nice to cuddle,” Ryeowook quips back. While cuddling him, of course. Pressing closer and tightening the one arm around his waist and a slight shift makes clear that the older man’s leg is staying draped over his own.

Oh, no big deal, that just muddles everything because this is not normal for them and that doesn’t sound like a normal, friendly thing and what if it’s not _meant_ to be? Henry feels his face light on fire at the thought. That this could be a thing that is happening on purpose. For romantic reasons. And all the very very closeness. “Right. Nice,” he repeats mindlessly.

Stiffening up again apparently didn’t go unnoticed. Ryeowook’s warm weight is gone, the other man scooting up, his elbow sunk into the pillow next to Henry’s head, his chin propped up on his hand. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks mildly, the hoarse gravel of sleep lightly clinging to the words.

And then it sinks in. No, this is not that kind of thing after all. “No, no, it’s- fine. This is fine,” Henry stutters out, quick to reassure. He’s the only one making this awkward and thinking weird thoughts, after all. Ryeowook only hums in response.

Then straddles him all of a sudden.

Henry’s breath catches in his throat, comes out shaky. He feels his eyes widen hugely, looking up into Ryeowook’s for half a second before finding he’s too scared to do that, down to his mouth in a burst of longing, to seeing that the dip in the pillows on either side of his head is from the weight of Ryeowook’s hands pressing down on them, to the clock, to the window and anything else.

Because Ryeowook straddling his hips is definitely not normal for them, and whatever’s going on, the only thing he knows is that he can’t take it.

But there’s nothing to clue him into what’s happening. Of their own accord, his eyes dart to Ryeowook’s mouth again for an instant, wondering, _wanting._ And that makes him even more frightened.

Because in the next instant, it comes to him that he’s seen the older man play with the others like this, laughing at their squirming and shoving, though here, there’s no audience, no one else to laugh with him. Still, it feels like this is the first time Ryeowook’s ever been cruel to him: doing this, knowing what he knows.

“Hey,” Ryeowook says, giving away nothing. But it sounds gentle enough.

Despite that, it takes an immense amount of willpower for Henry to meet his gaze. It doesn’t look cruel, but it doesn’t look anything else, either.

Above him, Ryeowook licks his lips, then finally asks, “Is this okay?”

 _Is_ it okay? Is _what_ okay? Henry’s known his fair share of guys who only ever did this sort of thing as a joke, the ones who he knew for sure he could never tell about being gay, certain that their friendship would turn sterile and cold from fear of something that was neither wanted nor going to happen.

But this wasn’t so simple. Until right now, his stomach clenching into a tight knot, he’d never thought that Ryeowook would toy with him like this. He can't hold back how afraid he is, or how hurt.

That’s when he looks down, unable to do anything else. It’s hurt and humiliation that his face burns with now. He asks the very question he most dreads hearing an answer to - the one that could rip them apart for good. “Are you just messing with me?”

Much to his surprise, Ryeowook's hand cups his cheek, thumb stroking back and forth in a gentle arc. That’s what makes Henry chance looking up, finding himself facing a tenderness he’s never known. He knows before a single word is spoken what the answer will be.

“No, I’m not.”

Hearing it made real, the breath comes out of him all at once. A tentative smile tugs at the corners of his mouth; he’s hoping against hope that this means what he thinks it does. What he wishes. What he’s spent longer than he knew wishing for. “Then it’s okay.”

Ryeowook smiles back twice as bright, blinking slowly. Henry can no longer hear anything except the rapidfire pounding of his own heart.

As Ryeowook advances towards him, time comes to a halt. His world narrows further and further until there's nothing but the places they touch and the warmth of the other man's breath upon his face, then further still.

Something so simple had never felt so _right_ , like he was exactly where he belonged, exactly with who he should be. It feels so good it leaves his head spinning. He hadn't thought this, all of these feelings encompassed in a few short seconds of their lips pressed together, was a thing that was really possible until he experienced it just now.

It ends too soon. They separate with a soft sound. He sighs with heavy-lidded eyes. He needs _more._ And with the slightest tug to the front of Ryeowook’s shirt, he gets it.

He’s never been set ablaze by so little, by the simplest kiss, by the barest press of their bodies together through layers and layers. He’s never vibrated with hesitation before reaching out for a deeper taste, never made that sound low in his throat from the tip of his tongue touching another, never been quite so eager and excited merely to reach under the bottom hem of a man’s shirt and touch the skin of his lower back.

As far as he can tell, he’s never been in love before, if this is what love feels like.

He’s lightheaded, his senses filled with sweetness and fever-heat and the sparks of electricity he can feel ratcheting higher and higher with every second their tongues slide together and their lips glide over each other and their skin touches where his shirt rides up. When they break apart for a moment, he’s left dazed, sinking into Ryeowook’s sultry eyes raking over him with unabashed hunger, both of them panting with lust. His eyes follow Ryeowook’s teeth scraping over his own bottom lip, hanging on to every slightest motion, waiting to see where he might be allowed next. Trusting him to lead.

In a low voice scraped raw, still breathing hard, Ryeowook says, “Take me to dinner.”

It takes Henry a couple of seconds to register the about-face. He finally answers with an inelegant, “Huh?”

“Tonight,” Ryeowook says more firmly, pulling back entirely. Along the way, he brushes over a particular place in a particular manner that doesn’t seem completely accidental. “We’re going out to dinner.”

“Wait, dinner? Right now?”

Ryeowook only snickers. “Ah, you’re funny.” He bends down to kiss Henry’s cheek, lingering for a wonderful couple of seconds that does nothing to defuse the mood left hanging in the air between them. “Since we're up so early anyway, go shower now before it gets too warm,” he says quietly into Henry’s ear, the words something between a suggestion and a command.

“Okay,” Henry squeaks out. _Well that’s embarassing._ He clears his throat and tries again. “Okay, I’ll go do that. Now. Yeah.” He half expects Ryeowook to nip his ear, growing more embarrassed still when he only hears a soft giggle.

“Come on, you first. I’ll go after you’re done,” Ryeowook says, tugging Henry’s arm until he gets up.

He goes without protest. He walks in a daze, his head still spinning with desire. It’s a wonder he manages to take his clothes off and turn the water on, since he can’t _think._

What he needs is to clear his head.

Getting drenched barely even registers. He can’t believe how worked up he is from a single kiss, and the mere idea of what else might be in store has him leaning hard on his hand on the shower wall, weak from the barrage of thoughts racing through his mind. He’d hoped it would subside with a bit of distance, is the thing. But now that he’s gotten a taste, his desire is overpowering.

One final involuntary gasp slips out at the end, much louder than he'd intended. His shaky breath echoes in the small bathroom. It's _mortifying_. He can only hope that it’s not audible from outside.

At least it worked. He sticks his face into the spray of water and has coherent thoughts instead of all-consuming _need_. Though a bit unsteady, he goes on autopilot for the rest, his memory catching up at last.

So after his visit last week, there was his frantic last-minute packing for Thailand, and poking at each other and watching some show together on his laptop on the flight, and him leading the audience in the birthday song, and coming back wired somehow, through the fatigue. That was all pretty clear.

As he stretches, he becomes aware that it must be Tuesday morning. (Way, way too morning.)

After they got back… Sunday afternoon? Yeah. So after that, a series of unfortunate coincidences and one or two bad decisions, with a pinch of losing himself in the zone, meant he’d stayed up way too late tweaking his composed piece, trying to perfect it. Only a few of his songs have been accepted by the company; he wanted this one to be perfect, ready to adjust to whatever he could foresee. Next thing he knew, it was time to go into the studio, and when he wasn’t needed to do anything, he slept poorly on the couch in the waiting room off to the side. The group was too noisy for it to be otherwise.

Still, it was enough to get him through his part. A few of his adjustments came in handy, and one or two other suggestions, when he was awake. That was a good feeling.

Then... what happened?

He realizes he put too much conditioner. It's not rinsing all the way out and it feels gross and slimy oozing down his neck. Now he's annoyed with himself, scrubbing his scalp with his blunted nails as he keeps rinsing.

Right, he went back to that couch again, and... he doesn't remember much after that. Ryeowook definitely did say something about his place being closer, but the rest is blank. He doesn't remember leaving the studio, getting to his place, or going inside. He tries really hard to remember anything between the door and the bed, but comes up empty handed. He was so out of it that it's just... gone.

The conditioner finally all came out. He gets to soaping, and tries not to think too hard about the part where he can't remember them getting into bed together either.

After showering, he quickly brushes his teeth, then finally notices that he’s cold and dripping onto the towel on the floor and puts on the bathrobe hanging on a hook nearby. It’s probably not his, since it goes a good bit past his knees, but he didn’t bring a towel in, so. That’s that. S’not like he can go back out there naked.

( _Don’t think about that_ , he tells himself firmly.)

When he comes out of the bathroom, Ryeowook’s got a towel over his shoulder, which only drives home with a belly-warming feeling how much time he’s been spending here.

The other man gives him a once-over and smirks as if he _knows_. Fuck, he probably _does_ know. Henry blushes down to his toes, it feels like. He rubs at the back of his neck, looking off to the side, not knowing what to say. He certainly can’t look him in the eye after that.

Ryeowook’s fingers brush over his as he passes, lasting just long enough for the gesture to be purposeful. Henry quickly squeezes back, remaining thoroughly embarrassed, and watches Ryeowook’s hips swaying particularly noticeably as he goes.

He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, tipping his head back. He’s still not exactly sure what they’re doing, only that it’s _something_. A good something. The water turns on, and all he can think is that there’re gonna be a whole lot of good somethings up ahead, and he’s so full with the feeling that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Something bouncy and electronic comes to him like a vision. If a vision could be in sound. Whatever, the important thing is that he’s immediately hunched over his laptop to get it noted down before it fades, looping it in his head to avoid losing it. Put this one a little higher, make that one a little shorter…

A couple of seconds passes between the sound of the door opening and when he’s wrapped up his train of thought and saved the file. He hadn’t noticed the sound of the water turning off. It’s almost a disappointment when he turns around and sees Ryeowook dressed in his same clothes, clinging a bit with the damp, and the towel draped over his shoulders.

“I'll text you when recording's done today, then come pick you up.” Ryeowook dries off his hair as he talks. “It's summer, so I know a good place to go. We can go back to my place and talk after that.” He smoothes down his hair - shame, it was really cute towel-ruffled like that - and quickly combs it, then puts his wallet, the comb, and his phone back into his pockets. "I'll see you later."

Henry kinda wants to tell him not to go, but he’d sound like a loser when they’re gonna see each other later anyway, and he doesn’t wanna put any strain on whatever this thing between them is. So he shuts his mouth.

He thinks for a second that Ryeowook's going to walk out just like that, like everything's normal and they're making their usual plans, minus the talk part. Instead, the other man leaves him with a searing kiss, pulling him down by one shoulder and sliding their lips together, taking hold of his bottom lip between a soft press of teeth, coaxing him closer somehow and then sucking on his tongue. They're both panting a little by the time they break apart to look at each other; it's the first time since he woke up that he's seen Ryeowook's composure fall away entirely.

 _Good thing I brushed my teeth,_ he thinks dizzily, left reeling and still bent down.

Close, so close to him, Ryeowook licks his own lips. His eyelids fall half-closed. His thumb rubs slow circles into Henry's skin, right at the base of his neck and sweeping over his collarbone. His eyes peek downwards and back up, intent, focused, unashamed. A change of plans seems to be in order... until it's not and the other man is all brisk efficiency again, the last of his touch slipping away.

"Bye!" He waggles his fingers in a parting wave as he heads for the front door.

Henry answers in a daze, waving back automatically, unsure what to do now. Slowly, he moves towards the door, to do he doesn’t know what. One last surprise for him comes when Ryeowook quickly doubles back to quietly close his bedroom door, blowing him a kiss right before he shuts it.

His top lip stings a bit from the slight scrape of stubble, made somehow erotic as a reminder that the kiss really happened. He swallows, walks the few short steps to his bed automatically. Rather than getting anything else done like he’d prefer, he shucks off the bathrobe, sits down, and tips over. He's still tired.

He catches a hint of sweetness when he lays his head on the pillow, determined to think through everything that’s happened, and promptly falls back asleep.

*

Thank god he did his laundry, is his first thought when he wakes up. Er, again. No smelly pile, just a nice clean one in a basket. One he has to find a date outfit from. Crap.

It _is_ a date, right? It has to be. They kissed, they’re going out to dinner, they’re going to have some sort of meaningful talk afterward. So. A date, for sure.

Even though he feels cheesy as fuck when he does it, he goes and sets a custom ringtone and message sound for Ryeowook. He’s not willing to risk missing anything, and the man himself won’t know about it, so he can be embarrassed all by himself.

Doesn’t dim his smile about it any.

No, what’s _really_ embarrassing is when his heart skips a beat when he hears that message sound. It comes at nine-something. He scrambles to send back a nice response, and the phone only slips out of his hands _once_ in the process. Then he’s rushing to get some cold water on his face, and put deodorant on, and check over the outfit he picked one more time once he’s put it on.

A good twenty seconds of staring down the mirror goes into the decision to comb his hair up the same way he’s done it lately. All that’s left after that is making himself _not_ rush down to wait, because all sorts of trouble lies that way. It’s hard, though. He’s actually _giddy_ about something as simple as going to dinner. A thing they’ve literally done together like a hundred times.

It’s okay, though, ‘cause Ryeowook looks just as giddy when he gets there, if somewhat more tired. But they keep looking at each other and quickly looking away, and that shouldn’t feel great but it **does**.

They talk shop, argue good-naturedly over eating hot versus cold food in summer, bump into each other's feet under the table, and generally struggle to contain their giggling lest it become obvious that they're hiding something. It's difficult with this shared secret, this wonderful adventure they're about to start together. Every meaningful look that passes between them in the lulls in conversation feeds the excitement.

It’s weird to find the place empty when they get back. He turns the main light on and everything’s quiet and still. Like, sure, it’s temporary, but it’s _weird._ Since it works in their favor, though, he decides not to mention it.

Despite that, Ryeowook closes his bedroom door behind them before he switches his lamp on. Without a word, they sit on the bed facing each other, crossed knees just about touching. _Here goes nothing,_ Henry thinks, nerves tightening in his chest.

Across from him, Ryeowook bites his lip and takes a deep breath. “This… isn’t easy, okay? So if- if you decide- If you change your mind, I’ll understand. We can forget any of this ever happened.”

That’s… really sweet of him, actually. It’s quite touching, if misguided, Henry thinks. He rubs Ryeowook’s knee, encouraging him with a small smile and nod to continue.

“Well. Since you’re gay too-“ He stops here, tense lines forming on his face as though he’s bracing himself for what he’s going to say next, a shaky breath stuttering out of him.

On the other hand, Henry feels something untense upon hearing that. A profound sense of relief washes over him. He hadn't wanted to pry - what if the other man was bi, or didn't know, or whatever? What if, for all the confidence Ryeowook showed this morning, this was his first time being with another man? Henry didn't wanna be an ass about it, or like, make him feel bad or awkward or anything. He just... wants them to be together. But that makes it easy - that means they understand each other.

He takes Ryeowook’s hands in his own, finding the fists they were clenched into relaxing in his grip enough to do so, and strokes the backs with his thumbs, getting a wan half-width smile in return.

Given how much trouble Ryeowook’s having - and there’s no doubt that the things he’s going to say are difficult ones - it's particularly admirable that he’s forging ahead with doing so. He says the things that he thinks need saying, even if he has to struggle through it the whole way, and does the things that need doing, no matter what it costs him.

 _Does he even know how amazing he is?_ Henry can’t help but think. “Please continue,” he says quietly.

Ryeowook nods, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, opens them again and begins speaking. "Since you're also gay, I think you already understand this, but, we have to be _very_ careful about how often we go out, the way we talk to each other, touch, even look at each other...” He sighs. “You say on a show or in an interview that you like women, and people believe you... for a while. But, it's really easy for rumors to get started.”

Henry grins wryly and squeezes his hands. Ryeowook lets out a dry laugh.

“Of course you know. It’s difficult, though. It’s a lot of pressure. There’re a lot of things we can’t do, too.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “More than if you were dating an ordinary person. Do you think you can handle that?” He then looks down, his expression dropping, and says, more quietly, “Do you want to?”

"I can handle anything if it's with you," Henry blurts out. Immediately after, he feels enormously embarrassed that he said something so corny, but Ryeowook’s looking at him now, his face filled with such adoration and so much _love_ that he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Are you sure?” The other man asks, his hope shining through.

“I mean it. I know it takes a lot to stay safe, but if I get to be with you, that’s all I need.” Henry pauses here, his heart hammering in his chest, because the words he’s about to say haven’t meant the same things before. “I love you.”

Ryeowook smiles at him in a way that looks like he’s about to cry. “I love you too.” Tearing up after all, he sniffs and continues, “And… I feel the same way. That having you is all I need. I’m not asking for anything else.”

Henry beams at him, his own eyes a little damp. “So you understand.” He’s not sure which of them draws the other into the embrace, or if they both move towards each other at once, holding tight in wordless comfort.

What he does know is that Ryeowook pulls away first, his mouth upturned in a half smile. “We can handle anything together, huh.”

“I think we’ve already handled everything,” Henry quips.

Chuckling in a rueful way that drops into a forceful exhale, Ryeowook replies, “It sure feels that way, doesn’t it.”

“Yeah. So we’ll be okay.”

It seemed to be exactly the right thing to say. Their legs moved with each other until Ryeowook’s bent knees bracketed Henry on either side of his straightened legs. Before they’d even settled into that, Ryeowook darted forward to kiss him. Henry slowly leaned back, his hands on Ryeowook’s waist to anchor him and guide the other man down with him.

Nothing but a simple, closed-mouth kiss, but his heart was full to bursting with joy, and the press of it felt better than almost anything else ever had, and there was the faintest sweet scent over something indescribable that was far more intoxicating. The tension of yearning pooled low in his belly, and sheer need was taking over his mind once more.

They kissed endlessly. The more he got, the more he wanted. He couldn't get close enough.

Clinging to the last remnant of his higher mental functions is the thought that they’re definitely dating now and should do something appropriate to that. Much as he could stay here forever, that’s a thing he should do, right?

He hadn't- he's- out of practice with the relationship thing- he hasn't done it in a while, and Ryeowook is too close, way too close for him to think, even though Henry admits that’s his own fault, so it took a long time to remember the simple concept of a date. Yeah, that's a good idea, that's a boyfriend thing right there. Now that they’re official and all.

Pulling away from the kiss is _agony,_ though, and he fails to hold back a whimper, but he does it, somehow.

“So, like, do you want to go to a movie?” He says before he loses his nerve - or his mind - again. _Don’t treat your partner like a hookup who stays the night,_ that Mike guy had told him at that party back in Boston. Sure, the guy was drunk at the time, and fresh off a breakup, and they’ll probably never see each other again, but it sounded like really good advice. So, not doing that. “I know one that’s open late?” Yeaaaah, it’s not great that it comes out as a question, but that was good, on the whole. He commends himself for having this much composure left in him.

Ryeowook does not look like he wants to go to a movie. in fact, Ryeowook looks ready to _devour_ him.

"To be honest, if it's really what you want, then we'll go.” A pause, here, that seems to wait for a reply, or objection, any kind of answer, that brings with it a pleasant sort of scrutiny that Henry would like to keep experiencing. He bends his knees, and Ryeowook shifts back to brace himself on one, the warmth of his hand weighing as heavy as his gaze, seeming to suggest the very act he has positioned himself for.

Seeing that no objection comes, it seems to embolden the other man; he rolls his hips down and back, the motion heavy with meaning.

“Mm?” As Ryeowook stares him down with laser focus, Henry’s mouth falls open a bit. His teeth scrape over his bottom lip. Upon feeling the motion repeated, all thought flies out the window as he moves up to meet him.

“I can do whatever makes you happy,” Ryeowook continues at last, and oh fuck, that’s not _fair_ , the way he says that. “But as for me... I feel like if I have to wait another second, I'm going to lose my mind." The last part is said low and sultry, almost gruff with undisguised desire, the words sucking all the air out of the room.

He leans forward, putting his weight on one hand, his right knee moving over to the left side, their lips faintly brushing together as he shifts his weight. He stares again, clearly drinking in every slightest hitch of a reaction. Once settled, he grasps Henry’s chin in one hand, kissing him hard and fast.

Riveted by this delicate dance, Henry didn’t become aware that his legs lay flat of their own accord until Ryeowook positioned himself between them, dropping down to rest on his elbows. The other man’s hands make their way under his thighs, pushing the undersides up and back until his knees are bent as far as they’ll stay on their own.

Ryeowook slides down, only breaking eye contact once to do some sort of slow visual sweep of his body. Whatever he sees, though it must be more memory and imagination than the reality in front of him, it puts him into a frenzy. He drops down to nuzzle Henry’s inner thigh through the fabric of his shorts, looking up at him with dark, dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust.

No man has looked at him quite like that before. Such intensity, such passion focused on him and him alone.

Consumed by the promise it held, Henry could only nod.

*

Sidestage at the start of a solo performance, hands crossed behind him and one knee bent to rest his foot on the wall, he listens for the change in the music as he privately muses over how wonderful it is to have a boyfriend again. No, _this **specific**_ boyfriend.

Hardly two months later, he still can’t believe his luck. He lets the wall support him while his chest bubbles over with expanding joy at soft morning kisses and always being asked what he wants to eat and bad formal dancing that doesn’t fit the song playing in the living room and massages that turn into giggly shushing each other in the nights they steal together. Everything from the calm of holding hands, to a soft, sympathetic smoothing of his hair, to video calls across opposite time zones, to showing up with four different kinds of pineapple buns when he complained of missing them after he got back from his trip, the memories all washed over him in sweet seconds.

He couldn’t help but notice the difference - how last time, in June, Ryeowook had dropped right into the mood of the song, solidly staying there, wistful, almost like sorrow. How this time, he could hardly keep from bursting into bright smiles, struggling to school his expression. Seeing him that happy is so amazing.

Henry would very much like to see him like that every single day.

Even more than the adorable striped shirt, Ryeowook looks _really good_ with his styled-messy dark red hair. It calls to mind how nowadays, their wrestling often ends in kisses, and those kisses sometimes turn to the lengths of their bodies deliberately pressed together, and then they find a hidden well of energy with each other, using it up slow and satisfying.

The only thing Henry knows for sure is that he’s gotta be the luckiest guy in the entire world.

The lights change, slowly brightening, and he’d look around the corner if he could. Good thing he can’t. He’d give up the game right away like that.

Ryeowook sounds amazing, as always, so Henry contents himself with ducking his head in a vain attempt to hide his proud, utterly besotted smile, and mouths along to the words.

_suǒ yǐ wǒ qiú qiú nǐ, bié ràng wǒ lí kāi nǐ_

[so I beg you, don’t let me leave you]

_chú le nǐ wǒ bú néng gǎn dào yī sī sī qíng yì_

[without you, I cannot feel even the slightest sense of love]


End file.
